Signs of Waking
by hangedfire
Summary: The war with Voldemort took everything from Harry: his family, his friends, his childhood and his mortality. Over 6 years after the final battle finds a broken Harry Potter in Forks, WA under the care of Dr. Carlisle Cullen. TwilightCrossover Slash HPEC
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: Shamefully, I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment.

_Warnings_: I have no beta but for spellchecker. I have not read the Twilight series beyond the first book; the rest of my information comes from Wikipedia and other fanfictions. I have no outline and no idea where I'm going with this story after this. As such, I really have no business posting this at all. I do so anyway. Also, there's slash. And suicidal themes. I think that covers it.

_Author's Note_: I don't write fanfiction. And when I do, I don't _post_ it. And there are probably more than enough Harry/Edward stories out there already, but this was eating my brain so I had to do something before it turned to mush. While I feel I know the Harry Potter characters like the back of my hand, like I said before, despite my imaginary love affair with Edward Cullen, Twilight really isn't my domain. Therefore I'd appreciate your (constructive) criticisms on anything I get wrong. I'll decide if I care enough to go back and change things. Also, I really do have no idea where I'm going with this, so let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to see.

* * *

Preface

I'd given plenty of thought to how I would die – I'd had reason enough in the years since my eleventh birthday – but I had never imagined it like this. I had planned, prepared for it in the months preceding the final battle and I had strived for it in the years following.

As I stared into the dark eyes of the hunter across from me, I felt the place inside me that had so long ached for this heave a sigh of contentment, pleased it was happening like this. It was a good way to die, my Gryffindor soul insisted, in the place of people I loved. But a small piece of me, new and fragile like the wings of a butterfly, mourned at that. It had been so long since I'd loved anyone and the thought of never seeing them again, never seeing _him_ again hurt in a way I had thought I could no longer feel.

When life offers you a dream after an existence of nightmares, it is not reasonable to grieve when the dream comes to an end. But as the hunter stalked forward to kill me, I smiled and prepared myself for the fight. After all, no one had ever called me a reasonable man.

* * *

Chapter One

Though it was difficult to tell under all the bruising and lacerations, he guessed the boy's age to be about 17 or 18. He had been in bad shape when they brought him in, with numerous broken bones, a punctured lung and severe head trauma. Despite his rather significant injuries, the patient was doing well. Much too well in fact. Not once since the patient had arrived had his heartbeat been anything but perfectly steady and the young man's oxygen levels were suspiciously high. Tests showed kidney and liver functions were normal. It was as though despite the visible damage, the patient was perfectly healthy.

It was this in part that currently had Carlisle Cullen staked out in his patient's room after his shift, when he should be at home with his family. There was something about this patient, this boy - the same age as his first son (by appearances, at least), with injuries so reminiscent of his Esme's the night he had found her in the morgue. These similarities peaked his interest, but there was something else as well, a feeling, a _pull _he couldn't explain.

Carlisle had never had any supernatural abilities outside of the ordinary for a vampire. Not having the ability to read minds or see the future, he had always believed his strongest trait was his compassion. It was what had allowed him to perfect his self-control, permitting him to make his penance in healing others. Perhaps it was this that drew him to the boy, the desire to heal him, save him from whatever it was that tormented him so. Or perhaps it was something else, some previously undiscovered sixth sense that told him this boy was one of his own, this boy was family. And so he sat staring into the darkening night, waiting for the young man to wake up.

The room was empty but for Carlisle and his patient. Statistically of course, the boy should be unconscious for another day at least, so there was no need for anyone to be in his room except for the on shift nurse who came by periodically to change his fluids and check his vitals. His injuries and recovery so far had been anything but standard, however, and Carlisle hardly expected the boy to do anything that might be considered typical.

Lost in thought though he was, Carlisle did not miss the first signs of waking from the injured young man. He swiftly silenced the alarms that would alert the nurses to the patient's consciousness and waited silently for his eyes to open. His black lashes fluttered briefly before lifting fully and Carlisle took advantage of the moment to study the boy before he was noticed. His face held none of the confusion or fear that was expected of a person waking up in the hospital, nor even the flash of bitter failure one often saw in those that came here under similar circumstances. Instead, the boy's piercing green eyes held only dull resignation and a trace of weariness that spoke of too many horrors seen in too few years.

Before he had the chance to alert the patient to his presence, the boy turned his head slightly to bring Carlisle into his field of vision and promptly fixed his eyes on the Doctor's. He made a motion with his hand to indicate removing the tube in his throat, though he continued to breathe in unison with the ventilator and did not struggle as most patients were wont to do.

"Ah, yes. Hello, I'm Dr. Cullen. You seem to be breathing well on your own now, so let's get that tube out, shall we?" Carlisle spoke, quickly shifting back into Doctor mode. He gently unfastened the tape that held the tube in place, careful to touch the boy as little as possible while doing so. "I need you to inhale deeply and then exhale slowly. This will be a bit uncomfortable. Ready?"

After receiving a nod of confirmation he removed the tube and waited for the boy to finish coughing and regain his breath before speaking again. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." The boy replied in a gravelly voice, one hand gently rubbing his throat.

"Do you know where you are?" He was answered with a nod. "Do you remember what happened before you came here?" Another nod and a throat rub. "Sore?"

"Mm-hm."

"I'm afraid you can't have anything to drink just yet, but I can get you some ice chips to suck on for now." Carlisle said before swiftly disappearing and returning with a cup of ice chips in hand faster than was humanly possible.

"Thanks." The boy said hoarsely, spooning the chips into his mouth. He fixed a scrutinizing gaze on the Doctor for a long minute before rasping, almost too quietly too hear, "Strange place for a vampire to work."

Though his face remained impassive, Carlisle's shock showed in the sudden unnatural stillness of his body. His voice was carefully level when he spoke. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Mr....?"

"Potter." The boy tersely introduced himself. And then, "Wizard." As if that should answer all his questions. And it probably would, Carlisle supposed, if he hadn't had a run in with the wizarding world before.

While his father's attempts to burn evil witches during Carlisle's human days had mostly resulted in the deaths of innocent people, Carlisle had encountered the hidden society a few times during his many years as a vampire. While he generally tried to avoid the dark creature hating civilization as a whole, Carlisle Cullen had always been eager to learn and he hadn't been able to resist the draw of a whole new field of study. As such he was familiar with some basic rules of wizarding magic and Mr. Potter's miraculous recovery simply did not mesh with those rules.

"I wasn't aware that wizards could heal themselves without potions and incantations." Carlisle said mildly. "Or consciousness." He added after a beat.

"Long story." The boy, apparently called Potter replied with the barest hint of a wince, though whether it was the topic or the pain of speaking that caused it, Carlisle was not sure.

"I hope that someday you will share it with me." He hesitated only briefly before continuing. "I must admit Mr. Potter, I'm rather surprised at how… at ease you seem to be with the nature of my being. I was under the impression your kind wasn't very tolerant of mine. Perhaps though, things have changed in the last century."

The boy snorted softly. "Not really. Wizards are still a bigoted bunch for the most part. My friend was-" He stopped speaking abruptly and his eyes clouded over briefly before he continued. "Well, I've never put much stock in what the masses believe anyway. Besides, I've been alone with you for at least twenty minutes, probably longer, and you haven't tried to kill me yet. I've come to the rather logical conclusion that you don't prey on humans. I mean, this isn't exactly where you'd expect to find your typical bloodsucker working. I imagine the malpractice suits would probably get pretty crazy if you were eating patients, yeah?"

The ice chips had apparently soothed the boy's throat enough to speak in complete sentences, but while the topic of conversation certainly held Carlisle's interest, time was of the essence and a change of subject was necessary. "Mr. Potter-" Carlisle began but was immediately interrupted by the boy in question.

"Harry."

Carlisle felt his patient's eyes on him; searching him for- Carlisle wasn't sure. A certain reaction, or lack of one he guessed. Whatever he found (or didn't find) in Carlisle's face, he seemed satisfied.

"Very well. Harry. The night nurse will be by in about twenty minutes. You're doing very well. Much too well actually; I'm afraid I am not quite sure how to explain how it is that you are awake and breathing on your own so soon. It is bound to cause suspicions."

"I'd slow it down if I could, but I'm afraid it's rather out of my control." Harry explained.

"I see."

"Don't worry, I'll be out of here in a few hours, so there won't be anyone here for them to question." He said in a very flat voice.

"Out? Are you planning on transferring to a Wizard hospital or do you have someone to care for you in your home?" Carlisle asked, a furrow marring his otherwise perfect brow.

"No hospital, no someone, no home." The furrow deepened.

"I assure you Doctor, I've been taking care of myself for a long time." He sounded more tired than he had a few minutes ago.

"You misunderstand, Harry. I'm sure that you are usually quite fine on your own." He placated the boy, ignoring the obvious fact that people who were doing fine didn't tend to come to the hospital under Harry's circumstances. "But while you are healing extraordinarily fast, at this time you are simply not physically capable of taking care of yourself. Based on your current rate of healing I would roughly guess you'll be able to move around on your own in 5 to 7 days. Until then you'll need someone to bring you your food, help you to the bathroom and so on."

"That's ridiculous. I just need to get up and I'll be fine. Look." Carlisle pressed a gentle hand over the surgical incision on his patient's abdomen to keep him from popping a stitch as the stubborn teen attempted to sit up, but did not otherwise hinder his endeavor. He had a feeling the only way the headstrong boy would get the picture was to experience it for himself. It was a long few seconds before he gave up his efforts with a pained grunt, having not been able to prop himself up even halfway.

Waiting until Harry returned his focus to Carlisle he spoke mildly, "Perhaps it would be prudent for you to stay with my family for the time being."

"What? Are you mad? You're just going to bring some strange kid home to your family and expect them to welcome me? No way. Just…just help me get out of the hospital and drop me at a hotel or something. I'll be fine."

"Miraculous healing powers or not, Mr. Potter, I simply wouldn't feel right about leaving an injured, teenaged boy alone with no way of moving around for a week or more." The soft footsteps of the night nurse echoing down the hallway reached Carlisle's ears first. "I think it would be wise to continue this conversation after we have left."

Harry huffed his annoyance at the lack of agreement from the Doctor. "Alright, fine. Let's get out of here."

Carlisle bent over and carefully eased his hands under Harry to lift him up. The boy's detached façade broke for the first time since he had awoken. "You're not going to _carry _me?"

Dr. Cullen's answering smile looked suspiciously smirk-like at Harry's scandalized tone. "It's the fastest way to move you. Much more difficult to sneak a gurney out, you know." Harry was lifted off the bed and before he could protest again they were slipping into the shadows and swiftly exiting the hospital without notice.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: Hmm, I'm not sure it's worth continuing really, but I probably will at least until it's out of my head. What do you think? I know this chapter was all about the Harry/Carlisle interaction but I assure you the story will be Harry/Edward. While I enjoy Harry's romantic endeavors as much as the next person, I really like to explore him in family situations so this story will feature that prominently. The Cullens as a family especially interest me so I'd like to see how Harry fits in there. I really should read more of the books because there wasn't nearly enough of the Cullens in the first one and I need to get a better feel for their characters, especially Esme. Any advice you can offer in that department will be greatly appreciated. Also, my medical knowledge comes solely from fanfiction and episodes of House, so you'll have to excuse any mistakes made here.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer_: I still do not own Harry Potter or Twilight. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Also, slash and suicidal themes. The next update definitely won't be so quick, I had this one almost completed when I posted the first chapter, but we've come to the end of the line with what I already have written.

_Author's Note_: For clarification purposes I suppose I should mention that this story includes HP canon up through book 5. So that means no Horcruxes, no Hallows, no Harry/Ginny and different character deaths. As for Twilight, well, it starts around the same time as the first book did, but is obviously AU. No Bella, I think, though I will try to keep the character histories as canonical as I can with my limited knowledge.

* * *

Chapter Two

It was almost 3 weeks after the final battle when Harry had first realized something was wrong. The _wrongness_ had struck him immediately upon waking up, primarily because he wasn't supposed to _be_ waking up. He lightly traced the long, healed cuts running from his wrists to his forearms with one finger. Yeah, he definitely wasn't supposed to have woken up.

He'd pushed the _wrongness_ to the back of his mind, and written off the waking up as human error, or a fluke, or maybe even - as Tonks had insisted it was - a miracle. Mrs. Weasley had cried; had sat by his bed for hours and sobbed, and Mr. Weasley, though quiet, had sat with him also, gripping his hand tightly. Shacklebolt had looked grim and Fred and George hadn't joked and when he had seen a tear escape from even McGonagall's eye he'd choked out an apology and promised never to do it again and had even attempted to smile.

He managed to keep his promise for almost ten months, but there was no Hermione to nag him into keeping it, and no Ron to always be around, and no Remus to offer gentle support and guidance and there had been no Sirius for years. And try as he might to ignore it, he could feel the _wrongness _still- pulsing in the back of his head, heavy and knotted in his gut, itching under his skin.

The coolness of the black depths had soothed the itch, the pressure against his ears relieved the pounding in his head, and when he'd filled his lungs and stomach with the murky water he felt the knots there finally begin to unravel. When he awoke this time it wasn't a feeling of confusion and disappointment that accompanied the _wrongness, _but a crushing terror. Fear of his own body, his own self, overtook him and for a brief moment the hospital staff worried that panic would finish what the water had failed to do.

It was not to be though and 15 minutes after his respirations had returned to normal saw Harry apparating from his bed AMA before the Healers could clear him or the Weasleys could visit him or the young star-struck candy striper could bring him his slightly runny lime jello. Two days after that found him packing a rather spartan bag and boarding a plane to Australia.

Australia had turned to Germany had become Japan went on to Argentina continued to Singapore. Comparing photographs of happier days, Harry perhaps should have been shocked to find that while his scenery had continued to change, he had not. Shock was a feeling he could no longer muster however, and when 3, 4, 5 years after the battle he looked into the mirror at his still 17 year old face the closest thing he could summon to an emotion was a grim sort of smugness radiating from the place he associated with that long suppressed _wrongness._

In his school days Harry had often been accused of seeking out trouble, an accusation he'd always felt was rather unfair. Yes, he was a bit too curious for his own good, and his overdeveloped sense of responsibility often had him doing things an 11 or 12 year old had no business doing, but more often than not, trouble found him. After all, it's not like he'd _asked_ an evil dark lord to repeatedly try to kill him, and unlike some people he hadn't entered himself into any international tournaments with exceptionally high death rates.

Nowadays was a different story. In recent years depression often found Harry with an empty fifth or two of vodka by his side, anger was accompanied by a fistfight with a man twice his size, while boredom was appeased with social games of Russian Roulette. And on an appropriately rainy day in September 2004, a soul-sucking emptiness with a niggling undercurrent of _wrongness_ found Harry Potter jumping from a cliff just outside of Forks, Washington on the Olympic Peninsula.

* * *

Despite having been awake less than an hour, by the time he found himself loaded into Dr. Cullen's sleek black Mercedes, Harry was thoroughly exhausted. He mentally changed his plan from arguing with the Doctor until he agreed to take him to a hotel, to going home with the Doctor and collapsing into a bed for an undetermined period of time. (Which was to be followed of course, by waking up and arguing with the Doctor until he agreed to take him to a hotel.)

Though the trip didn't take long, Harry was already half-asleep by the time they made the drive through the forest and up to the large house. He offered no protest as Dr. Cullen once again scooped him into his arms and lifted him out of the car. Nor did he take notice of the five vampires that met them at the door, speaking in tones so low as to be nearly imperceptible. He vaguely registered the feel of being transferred from the strong arms to a soft, warm bed and then he knew nothing more.

Harry was plenty used to waking up in strange environments- hospitals, hotel rooms, dirty bathroom floors in seedy bars- but it still took him a moment to gather his bearings and determine where he was. Eyes shut, lying perfectly still, the only indication of his shift to consciousness was a slight change in breathing. He quickly reviewed everything he could recall from the day before. Waking up in Seattle, the drive to the coast, parking his bike and walking in the rain. The unceasing feeling of devastating anguish. And then- and then the ridiculous and futile dive from the cliff's edge. But none of that explained his current position of waking up in a bed that was far too soft to be hospital issue without the annoying beeping of monitors surrounding him.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and pressed himself to remember more. Right, he had already woken up in the hospital. He recalled the uncomfortable but not unfamiliar feel of the ventilator doing his breathing for him and then the Doctor removing the tube in his throat. Wait- there it was. The Doctor. The _vampire_ Doctor. And hadn't _that_ come as a surprise. He had sensed the man's magical presence almost immediately upon waking up; but it wasn't until he'd felt the brush of cold fingers against his face and observed the lightning-fast pace the man set in fetching his ice chips, put together with his incredible good looks that Harry had pegged him as a vampire. The man had been surprisingly kind, and he'd seemed to be on the up-and-up; though even if he hadn't, it had been years since Harry had been able to muster enough energy to care about that kind of thing. Still, kind though he may have been, Harry couldn't believe he'd actually gone home with the stranger. He must have been more out of it than he'd thought.

He had to get out of here. Vampires or not, he didn't belong around other people. But before he could even begin to struggle to sit up he was halted by the opening of the bedroom door and the entrance of a very attractive woman. She had a pale, heart shaped face surrounded by long waves of caramel colored hair and a gentle, melodic voice.

"Oh good, you're awake. Alice said you would be, but I had wondered." She spoke softly with a very sincere smile on her face. "I suppose by now we should know better than to question Alice."

"Alice?" He found himself repeating back dumbly.

"One of our children. But I suppose I should introduce myself first. How remiss of me. I'm Esme Cullen, Carlisle's wife. You remember Carlisle of course." She looked to him for confirmation before continuing at his nod. "He'll be up shortly no doubt, he's just downstairs finishing a conversation with Rosalie at the moment. Our other daughter." She thankfully added before he could parrot her words back at her like an idiot.

"Carlisle says you'll be joining us for the week." She continued with an oddly hopeful look on her face.

"I wouldn't want to be an imposition." He found himself muttering inexplicably in reply. That wasn't what he'd meant to say at all. He shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs and opened his mouth to correct this statement, but nothing came out. He didn't know why he was having such a hard time coming up with the words to tell this woman that he _wouldn't_ in fact be staying here; after all he'd been cheerfully (and not so cheerfully) telling friends and strangers alike to bugger off for the last 7 years.

He'd only met her a second ago, but something about this woman's sweet face, her soft and elegant manner kept him from lashing out or hiding beneath his callous exterior as he had for so long now. He decided for the moment, to cease his worrying about how he was going to explain his leaving and just concentrate on sitting up. It was very disconcerting after all, talking to a relative stranger while lying flat on his back.

"Oh my, let me help you, dear. Carlisle says you shouldn't be putting too much strain on yourself right now. And of course you're being silly." She said, while placing fluffy pillows behind his back. "You're certainly no imposition. You've been a lovely guest so far."

Harry refrained from pointing out that until now he'd been unconscious for the extent of his stay. He was saved from having to come up with something to say by the sound of his door softly clicking open as Dr. Cullen joined them. He briefly wondered whether or not the blond man did that on purpose to make him more comfortable, as he seemed to otherwise move about with complete silence.

"Good morning. How is our patient doing today?" He inquired with a warm smile.

"Much better, I would say, though I'll leave the official ruling to your expert opinion." Esme responded while efficiently straightening the covers around him. Harry was sure she was tucking them so tight in a surreptitious effort to keep him from trying to leave the bed. "One thing's for certain, he's much too skinny for a young man his age. Poor thing, you must be starving, I'm sure." She directed her last comment to Harry. "I sent Emmett out to pick up some groceries, how about I prepare something for you to eat? Nothing too heavy, I should think."

Her eyes were bright with enthusiasm and once again Harry found himself dumbly nodding his consent before she glided out of the room and down to the kitchen. "I can't stay here." He blurted as soon as the Doctor and he were alone, finding it much easier to be rude when not faced with the motherly woman's sincere smile and imploring eyes.

"I thought we had already come to an agreement on that last night." Dr. Cullen replied with a very innocent sort of expression. He did not hesitate in his inspection of Harry; checking surgical wounds, dispensing antibiotics, and gently moving limbs about in a manner Harry knew was designed to test his range of motion.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Actually, what I recall is deciding to talk about it outside shortly followed by me passing out in your car." He immediately felt his paranoia rising. "Did you slip me something?" He demanded, having been quite accustomed to being drugged with sleeping potions 'for his own good' during the two years between Sirius' death and the final battle. But the genuine look of surprise on the Doctor's face told him he was wrong and he quickly found himself apologizing sheepishly for his bizarre suspicions.

Dr. Cullen smoothly waved off his apologies, claiming they weren't necessary, but it was apparent from the look on his face that he was worried about his patient's state of mind. Harry supposed he couldn't blame him there. Between his mercurial moods and the incident that had led him to Dr. Cullen's hospital in the first place, most people would have probably been concerned for his sanity. Not to mention he doubted the good Doctor had failed to notice the faint white scars that marred his wrists. He wondered if the older man was regretting bringing him home yet.

What was _wrong_ with him? These people were doing something to him, they must be. He hadn't apologized for any of his actions, crazy or not, in years. Not to anyone living anyway. He begged forgiveness of the dead on a daily basis. Night after night he looked for his absolution knowing it was in vain; he could not make his penance until he was allowed to join them. He was broken away from his depressing musings by the graceful reentrance of Esme, carrying his breakfast and followed by 5 other unbelievably beautiful people.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: Wow, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. I must say they go a long way in making me not feel like a blithering idiot. I started writing this story because in my enjoyment of other HP/EC stories around here I noticed that no one was really bothering to deal with the timeline difference between the HP and Twilight worlds, and I found myself pondering ways that Harry, having turned 17 in 1997, could come across Edward in 2005. Then the bunnies started chewing and here I am. _Aaaaand_…I still have no idea where I'm going with this. Seriously. I need baddies for conflict. Should I go with something from the Potterverse? Do you think James the tracker would be too easy for Harry? I know next to nothing about the Volturi, but I could study up.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer_: I still do not own Harry Potter or Twilight. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: Wow, you guys are seriously awesome with the reviews. Thank you so much. Some of you have been asking and I promise I will eventually explain why Harry is not aging, but not in this chapter. You will find out when the Cullens find out, and unfortunately that's not for a little while. I want this story to have a natural progression; this is a painful topic for Harry and I just can't really see him spilling his guts to strangers. Trust me, I want to get to that scene too, I've got it all planned out, but I have to get through a few more chapters first! This chapter was really difficult for me to get out; I get bored easily and I feel like I've read through Harry/Cullen introduction scenes so many times now that it was hard to write something different enough to hold my attention but still achieve the necessary set up. I kept sneaking off to write snippets of later chapters and had to force myself to come back to this. I'm not really happy with it, but I've rewritten every sentence at least once and I think my head will explode if I read it one more time, so I'm just going to post it already.

* * *

Chapter Three

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for Alice's eyes to go distant as she focused on images no one else could see; but when her head had snapped up the night before and she had announced in her chirruping voice that Carlisle was bringing a patient home with him, ordinary was the last word on Edward's mind. Carlisle was hardly one to bring home strays, especially human strays, and Edward's first thought was that his father was planning to create another member for their family. Alice had quickly dispelled this speculation though, informing them that the boy was not dying and therefore Carlisle had no plans to turn him.

Rosalie had been quick to express her anger regarding the situation and Esme had been eager for their guest to arrive, dashing upstairs to prepare a room. Edward however, had mostly just felt a vague sense of discomfort at the thought of an outsider, a _human_, in his family's home. The house was the one place they could be themselves, no hiding, no fear of discovery; and the thought of bringing an unknown here made him distinctly nervous. Alice had tried to ease his distress, assuring him that their soon-to-be guest both knew of their _condition_ and was not bothered by it, but that only raised other concerns for Edward. Who _was_ this person that knew who they were? And more importantly, what did he intend to do with that information? He did his best to set aside this apprehension; between Rosalie's bitter disdain, and Jasper's fear that he would lose control there was already more than enough tension in the house. Besides, he trusted Carlisle above all others; his father would not bring this boy home if he were a danger to the family.

While he hadn't fully been able to push away his worry over the stranger, neither had he expected to feel any personal interest in the boy. Outside of the possible threat they posed to his family, other people were of very little significance to him, both human and vampire. It was not that he held any real dislike of them, they just didn't _interest_ him. Humans were petty and shallow, and other vampires bored him. It was a very wearing thing after all, being able to hear everyone's thoughts, especially when they were all so unimaginative.

They heard Carlisle's approach before the car was visible and gathered at the door to wait. Had they been human, they surely would have been fidgeting like mad, but as it was they stood very still in their agitation. Carlisle exited the car with supernatural speed and easily lifted a teenage boy into his arms to carry inside. He appeared to be about the same age as Edward was physically, though it was difficult to tell much else about his appearance, curled up as he was- almost_ trustingly_- in Carlisle's arms. Edward's senses confirmed what Alice had predicted- while the boy's injuries appeared to be quite significant, his breathing was regular and the sound of his heartbeat thumped steadily- there would be no need for Carlisle to change him.

The family was frenziedly questioning Carlisle about the human in near-soundless voices, but the older vampire waved their inquiries off momentarily to continue past them to the upstairs where he could settle the boy in the spare room. Jasper was frowning so Edward searched his mind to see how he was handling the struggle. This was going to be difficult for him, Edward knew, having not just a human in their home, but a human with recent injuries, and Edward couldn't understand what Carlisle was thinking bringing him home. His worries about Jasper's control, however, were abruptly pushed aside by the thought that filled the preoccupied blond vampire's mind.

_I thought Alice said he was human. _

Not human? Edward was immediately on guard, anxious for his family's safety and ready to defend. He reached out mentally to see if he could hear anything that might cause them harm in the stranger's head, but was not met with any thoughts at all. That was not entirely surprising, as the injured boy seemed to be all but asleep in Carlisle's arms. He traced scrutinizing eyes over the boy's disappearing form as Carlisle carried him away, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. "What is it?" He asked Jasper in a low voice, hoping for insight into the other vampire's previous thoughts.

_You didn't notice anything strange about him?_ Came the mental reply.

"Like what?"

Jasper hesitated only briefly before his answer came. _He doesn't smell like food._

Edward inhaled deeply to pick up the lingering scent of the human in the air and at first he didn't understand what Jasper was talking about. The boy smelled human, no doubt about it. There was no trace of vampire, wolf, or any other creature as far as Edward could determine. There _was_ something else there, though. Something faint that took him a moment to identify before he recalled a man Carlisle had briefly introduced him to many years ago; a wizard, Carlisle had told him. He remembered thinking at the time that while the wizard's thoughts had been strange- full of Latin incantations and random flying objects- they had been just as superficial and dull as any other human's. But he also recalled that the wizard of decades ago had smelled just as much like food as any other stranger on the street. No, this boy's scent was different. There was that faint something present, yes; that hint of spice he now associated with magic, but that was not what made him different. It was not an addition to his human scent, like the magic, it was more like something was missing. The something that made his throat run dry and mouth fill with venom; the thing that identified a human as _prey_.

While Carlisle did a quick reassessment of Harry's wounds to make sure no stitches had been torn during the move, the family gathered at the dining room table to wait for his return, leaving his usual seat at the head open for him. As soon as he sank into his chair the others bombarded him with questions, eager to hear the reason for the strange presence of a human in their home. It took some time to get through the story as Carlisle had to stop frequently to explain things, the others not being as familiar with wizards and magic as he. They had been surprised to learn of the manner in which the wizard had fallen under Carlisle's care, and in the end even Rosalie had been (grudgingly) willing to tolerate the boy's stay once Carlisle had shared his reasons with them, though she _had_ suggested that they let him leave when Alice had warned them that he might try to run off in the morning.

Edward spent the next few hours killing time until the human would wake up alternately listening to music in his room and listening to the quiet sound of the boy's heartbeat from where he had taken up residence down the hall. Alice was the first to notice the human's return to consciousness in the morning, seeing that he was about to get hurt while trying to magic himself away without regard to the precarious condition of his body. After sending Emmett off to the grocery store, Esme practically flew up the stairs in her haste to check on their visitor. Rosalie was having another argument with Carlisle, apparently having changed her mind and decided during the night that the boy was going to bring the whole vampire-hating wizarding world down around them and that they should get rid of him while they still could. Edward himself was being entertained by Alice who was looking through their possible immediate futures and sharing them with the mind reading vampire.

Not long after Carlisle went upstairs, Esme joined them in the kitchen where they'd assembled to put Emmett's groceries away, and set herself to preparing breakfast. The meal was finished and plated quickly, and in unspoken agreement the others followed behind her as she carried it back upstairs. Edward didn't know what exactly he'd expected of their visitor after Carlisle's explanation last night, but the sharp-edged boy propped in bed before him was certainly not it. He'd somehow looked very small, very innocent in Carlisle's arms, and- despite Carlisle's tale of suicidal cliff jumps and miraculous healing powers- very naive. Sometime during the night, his status as a threat having been dismissed, the boy's palpable vulnerability had filled Edward with an oddly protective feeling; a foreign but instinctive desire to shield him from all that would do him harm.

There was no hint of last night's exposed and trusting position in the boy now. He appeared harder somehow and despite the physical damage that screamed of weakness, there was a tangible strength beneath. Looking at him, Edward was strongly reminded of shattered glass- fragile in its delicacy, but dangerous to those that would try to touch it. The left side of his face was covered in mottled bruising and small scrapes and cuts. His mouth was set in a soft frown and his bottle green eyes were wary, though not in the appropriate 'afraid you might kill me' way that was to be expected. There was something darker about the expression, something that made Edward believe it was a look not limited to those afflicted with vampirism, but equally bestowed to all that came in contact with him.

He listened to hear exactly what the boy- Harry, he reminded himself- was thinking about while being confronted with a roomful of vampires, but the only voices he could hear in the room- both spoken and mental- were those of his family. He couldn't hear anything but Harry's rhythmic heartbeat and breathing coming from his place on the bed. No thoughts at all. For a fraction of a second he stupidly wondered if the boy had obtained brain damage in his fall before remembering that Carlisle had had a conversation with him the previous night. He had even watched parts of it in Carlisle's head while the older vampire had told them about Harry, too intrigued by this human to not learn as much as he could about him. No, the boy's mind was obviously still working; it was just unavailable to Edward for some reason.

He focused harder, listening closely for faint thoughts that he might have missed, but still there was nothing. He reached out with his mind again and this time he _pushed_. There was a flicker. So fast it would have been imperceptible to a human, his vision changed to another scene of a tired and drawn Harry lying in bed, approximately the same age though less injured than he was now. Instead of the seven Cullens gathered around Harry's bed, it was a family of redheads, with tears in their eyes. It was gone before he knew it and the present Harry blinked a few times in rapid succession as though trying to clear the image from his once-again blank mind.

It was at this time that Edward's concentration was broken by the sound of Esme saying his name; apparently having finished introducing the others to Harry while Edward had been busy trying to penetrate his thoughts. Harry seemed to have noticed Edward's eyes trained on him and in return had fixed his own verdant gaze on the vampire. Feeling like he should probably say something, Edward used his quiet, most non-threatening tone to greet the boy. Harry, though not having said a word since the others had entered the room, returned the hello in a clear, accented voice and Edward realized it was the first time he'd heard the other speak outside of other people's thoughts. He liked the sound.

It was with a curious jolt of excitement that Edward found himself locked in a strange sort of staring contest with the dark-haired boy, neither being able to pull their eyes away from the other. The rest of the family had stopped speaking, apparently aware of the strange tension between the two. They were anything but silent however, as their minds all buzzed with thoughts about Edward, confused and concerned about what was taking place between he and Harry. Esme especially was afraid Edward might be in danger of losing his control and attacking the human, and she was swift to shoo them all out of the room, insisting that Harry surely must be tired and should use this time to rest. Only Jasper seemed untroubled with Edward's fixation, and indeed was actually almost amused, feeling the rapid turn towards attraction his brother's emotions were taking.

Had it been even an hour previous, Edward would have been able to say he was listening in on Esme's conversation with Harry solely due to his responsibility to make sure his mother wasn't in any danger from the newcomer. Now though, he knew it had much more to do with his sudden fascination with the young wizard she was talking to. After the room had cleared out and Harry had realized that Esme wasn't going to let him get up to use the shower, he had politely asked for a basin of water and washcloth to clean himself up. An understandable desire considering that the clean up job the hospital had done had left him with small amounts of dried blood crusting in his hair and flaking off his skin.

Esme had of course agreed to the request and now Harry was rather ineffectively trying to convince the doting woman that he was capable of washing himself. Edward couldn't help but be amused by the embarrassed and desperate tone Harry's voice had taken on, though for all his determination to not let himself be sponge bathed by a near stranger, he seemed rather reluctant to argue with the woman outright and ended up agreeing to let her help him with his hair and back. A confusing sort of thrill shot through Edward at hearing that, and when Jasper looked over at him inquisitively Edward was glad the blond couldn't tell what had caused it. He shrugged off Jasper's unasked question as he continued to observe what was going on upstairs, and if anyone suspected what he was doing, they didn't call him out on being a peeping tom.

If his surprise at Harry's appearance that morning had been undue, his alarm at seeing the scars on Harry's arms was positively irrational. After all, the boy had thrown himself off a cliff not 48 hours previous, and Carlisle had told them last night that it hadn't appeared to be the first time he had tried something like this. Not to mention that both of Edward's parents had tried to kill themselves at some point in the past, so it wasn't exactly an alien concept to him. Neither had had any marks to show for it though, vampire healing and imperviousness doing away with such things. He wasn't sure if that was what made the difference in his reaction or if it was something else, but he chose not to dwell on it.

There were scars on Harry's torso and back as well, though they weren't as long and weren't as plain to see beneath the dark bruising and fresh cuts. Edward didn't know which idea actually upset him worse, that Harry might have done all the damage to himself, or that someone else had inflicted it upon him. What he did know was that both ideas distressed him far more than he had any right to be, and that he should be staying as far away from Harry as possible before it was too late. He also knew that was not going to happen. It was already too late.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: So I debated a lot over whether or not Edward should be able to read Harry's thoughts and eventually ended up on this sort of half-and-half thing. I'm afraid it might seem wishy-washy, but my reasoning is as follows. I had already seen a number of stories where Harry's thoughts were not available to Edward and I wanted to do something different, but the more I thought on it the more I wondered if it was really possible to love someone and remain interested in them when you can hear their every single thought. I still didn't want his thoughts blocked completely though, as Harry is not very good at expressing himself, especially when it comes to emotional things and I figured it might help him and Edward out a bit if a few things could get though. And finally, while I've always very much enjoyed stories of Harry-the-impenetrable-occlumency-master, I liked the idea of him employing sort of half-baked mind shields. It seemed very Harryish to me as his emotions are a very big part of him and I don't see him as someone who is able to really compartmentalize his mind and feelings like that. Thoughts, comments?


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer_: Chances of me ever owning Harry Potter or Twilight are slim to none. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: Sorry this took so long to update! I'm trying to switch off with character points of view so this chapter was supposed to be from Harry's POV and I kept trying to write it as such, but he was all 'Dude, leave me alone.' and then Edward kept trying to put his two cents in so finally I just let them have their way and so now we've got another Edward POV. Hope nobody minds too much.

* * *

Chapter Four

"So?" Emmett asked him later that night as the family gathered once more in the dining room.

Edward knew what the larger vampire was inquiring about, could see the question in his mind, but responded, "What?" all the same.

Emmett rolled his eyes. "Harry. What's his deal? Carlisle said he seemed to know all about the super-healing, but wouldn't say anything. So what can you tell us?"

What could he tell them? That Harry seemed to know quite a few redheaded people and apparently had been injured at least once before? Also, he had the most amazing green eyes Edward had ever seen. Somehow he didn't think that was exactly what Emmett wanted to know. Not to mention he'd probably tease Edward for the next hundred years if he let that bit about the eyes slip out.

"Not much." He responded instead. "I can't really see what he's thinking." There was a collective gasp and all eyes were on Edward now.

"It's like he's got something blocking his mind. I was able to get through for a second upstairs, but then it went blank again."

"You think it's something he's doing intentionally?" Carlisle asked.

"I'm not sure. The way his mind cleared again after I got in, it seemed deliberate, but at the same time I'm not even sure if he noticed what I was doing."

"So maybe the shields aren't there to keep Edward out, maybe they're there for something else." Alice supposed.

"What though? Unless he's come across another vampire that can read minds. I mean wizards can't do that, right?" Emmett asked.

"I've never heard of it, but I'm hardly an authority on the subject." Carlisle supplied. "My knowledge of wizarding magic is mostly limited to the basic principles and their medical practices." He turned to face Jasper. "What about you? Were you blocked as well?"

He shook his head. "No, he pretty much ran the full gamut this morning. Confusion, fear, intrigue; nothing that posed a threat. There's a lot of pain there," he added, "and more than a little self-loathing."

"Alice?"

"It's hard to say, exactly. He's very indecisive, very impulsive. He keeps making up his mind to leave, but I only see it a few seconds before it's going to happen. And he changes it back before I can even get upstairs to stop him. It's even more confusing if I try to see what happens if he stays. I can see he'll be very important to us, but his response isn't set, he's all over the place." She hesitated before continuing. "It's a little clearer if I focus on Edward, his mind is already made up."

"My mind? What are you talking about?" But even as he asked he was delving into Alice's mind, scrolling through the passing visions. They were for the most part blurry and vague, shifting quickly between possibilities, no future sure enough to make a lasting impression. The last one though, was crystal clear: Alice and Jasper relaxed side by side on the sitting room sofa with Harry across from them. All three were smiling as Alice gently teased Harry, flicking scraps of balled up paper into his messy hair. Sitting on Harry's side with one arm comfortably slung around Harry's shoulders was Edward. Though he had never seen such a look on his own face before, the love shining from his eyes was unmistakable.

"Alice? What...?" He had never been so confused, so _torn_; never wanted something so badly and been so afraid of it at the same time. He was shaking his head resolutely now, though he wasn't sure what it was he was saying no to. The idea that this could even be possible, or that fact that he wanted it to be? It was pointless to deny, he knew that as well as Alice did.

"It's okay Edward, we're all going to love him." She tried to comfort him.

"…love?" He weakly repeated. "No, that's…" He was still shaking his head as he trailed off, trying to refute what he knew to be true. Everyone's thoughts were focused on him now. He wished his own were as confident and logical as theirs. Alice's conviction, Jasper and Emmett's amusement, Esme's joy and Carlisle's surprise; annoying as they were, all made more sense than the chaos of his own conflicting thoughts. Even Rosalie's triumphant _'I knew it!_' at discovering his apparent sexual orientation was welcome in comparison to his muddled feelings.

"I told you Edward, your mind is already made up."

"No, Alice. That can't happen. I won't let it. He's…human." He said, unwavering in this one thing.

"He's a wizard."

"He's still human!"

"Is he? He doesn't smell quite human. There's something different about him." Jasper reminded him.

"That doesn't matter." He snapped back. "He doesn't belong with someone like me, a monster. I'll hurt him."

Emmett, it seemed, could no longer hold in his humor at the situation, as he chose that moment to let loose a loud guffaw. "Sorry," he said at the disapproving look Carlisle shot him, thought the laughter was still evident in his voice. "But we are still talking about the kid upstairs, right? The one who threw himself off a cliff? You really think he's worried about being hurt by you?"

Edward scowled. The reminder of Harry's suicide attempt was less than welcome, but he was used to Emmett's tactlessness and he could hardly deny that he had a point.

"I don't think you have a say in the matter anymore, Edward. You're more than halfway there already. You must see it, even you're not that blind." Alice addressed him again.

"I'm not in love with him. I don't even know him, Alice!"

Suddenly everyone's thoughts were in complete agreement and six pairs of eyes were staring at him as if he were crazy. "Why on earth should that matter?" Rosalie spat, as though affronted by the very idea that you should have to get to know someone before falling in love with them.

He couldn't believe even Rosalie (_Rosalie_!) seemed to be supporting the idea of him and Harry now. He knew though, that it had been a weak argument to use amongst three happily married couples who had recognized their soul-mates immediately upon meeting them (or even before, in Alice's case). And just like that all the conviction he'd managed to gather was upended again. He wanted what they had. He wanted it more than anything. And the hardest part of that to swallow? He wanted it with Harry.

* * *

Harry spent most of the next three days sleeping, periodically waking up to eat as much food as Esme could force down him. The first day Edward had stayed far away from him; going running through the woods to escape the green-eyed boy and the confusing jumble of emotions he'd provoked in him. The second and third day had not been as easy. Carlisle had asked him to see if he was better able to access Harry's mind while the boy was asleep and so he had ended up spending most of his time at Harry's side. He had realized of course, within the first ten minutes that he would not be able to access the young wizard's unconscious thoughts. His mind seemed to be locked tighter in his sleeping state than it had been that first morning. Once there however, he had not been able to pull himself away from the boy's side.

And it was not creepy at all, he told himself, that he was watching Harry sleep. Harry was hurt after all, and ailing humans often had someone to sit by their bedside while they recovered. Granted, not usually people they had only just met, and probably not for 48 hours straight. But he was a vampire after all, it's not like he needed to take restroom breaks. Thankfully, no one had decided to comment on his new pastime, even if they were thinking about it. Not even Harry had said anything when he had woken up for the fifth time in a row to find Edward still in the exact same position by his bed.

Then again, Harry hadn't said much of anything since Carlisle had brought him home. During the short periods of time when he had been both awake and unoccupied by eating he had mostly entertained himself with staring at Edward. It was strange how unabashedly he watched Edward. Most humans were uncomfortable meeting their eyes for any length of time, instinctively- if not consciously- recognizing them as predators. Harry had no such qualms, and the piercing green gaze he fixed on Edward was somehow both doleful and curious at the same time. He didn't voice any of his questions out loud though, and by the second day Edward was ready to explode with frustration every time Harry would draw in a breath as though about to speak, only to release it a moment later saying nothing. He had never understood how annoying that action was until he was unable to simply hear the person's unspoken question in their mind.

Pushing against Harry's mind had only achieved a rippling of whatever mental shields Harry seemed to be employing, and a slight narrowing of Harry's eyes, leaving him unsure as to whether or not the wizard was, in fact, aware of Edward's attempted intrusions. It wasn't until the end of his second day of 'wizard watching' as Emmett had so charmingly mentally dubbed it, that Edward got his second unintentional glimpse into Harry's mind.

It had taken a good twenty minutes of uncomfortable squirming before Harry had grudgingly admitted that he needed to use the facilities. This confused Edward, as Harry hadn't seemed nearly so reticent when asking Carlisle for assistance to the bathroom earlier. But for some reason that Edward couldn't fathom Harry seemed very reluctant to ask him for help. It irked him, or at least it did until he picked the boy up and noticed the blush that immediately colored his cheeks and the way his heart rate sped up. Edward felt a little better after that, though not any less confused.

Harry grumbled quiet expletives to himself the entire short trip to the bathroom and back, clearly displeased at having to admit weakness and ask for Edward's help. His ire was oddly endearing and Edward traced one finger softly over the lingering bruise adorning Harry's cheekbone as he settled him back into the bed. "Almost healed." He quietly observed. "Carlisle says you should be able to move around on your own in a few days."

"About time." He huffed. "I don't know how much longer I could stand to be in bed."

"What an odd thing to say." Edward couldn't help commenting.

"Er…not really. I don't expect anyone likes being confined to bed rest."

"I had meant the other part, actually." Edward corrected. "'About time?' You are healing at an extraordinary rate, after all. It seems quite strange that you would have expected it to go any faster."

Harry chuckled wryly. "Yeah. You're right of course. I suppose I've just gotten a bit used to the quick healing; it doesn't usually take so long. I guess I hadn't expected to be so injured."

Another odd thing to say, Edward thought. After all, most people to make such a jump did it with no intention of surviving. He couldn't figure this boy out at all. "But you had expected to live?" He asked.

"Maybe. I don't know, I wasn't really thinking at the time. I'd hoped not, but…" Harry trailed off, for once not meeting Edward's eyes with his own.

It was maddening not being able to read his thoughts. If the boy wasn't going to complete his sentences the least he could do was make his mind a little more penetrable. "What?" He finally asked, voice a little sharper than he'd intended.

"Nothing. Like I said, I've just gotten used to the way things are. Whether I want them to be or not." He replied cryptically.

"And the way things are is that you survive horrific falls and heal faster than humanly possible?" He didn't mean for the question to come out so sarcastic sounding.

"Yes."

"And why is that?" He questioned, wanting to understand.

"I don't know. Call it spell damage."

Harry's answers were coming out more snappish now, but Edward pressed on, wanting, needing to know more about this strange human. "What does that mean?"

"Why do you care?" He was clearly aggravated now, running his hand through his hair in an unconscious gesture causing his messy hair to stand even more on end.

"I… just do." It was an inadequate answer and he didn't know why Harry accepted it, but he was thankful that he did.

"I did a spell that I didn't know much about a few years back. It had some unfortunate and unexpected side affects. This was one of them."

"I wouldn't think most humans would consider this unfortunate."

There was that sardonic chuckle again. "Probably not. But I've never had much in common with most humans."

"What was the spell?" He asked, overcome with curiosity.

"I don't really want to talk about it." All traces of humor were gone from Harry's voice now.

"But why haven't other wizards tried it? Wouldn't be a huge medical advancement for your community?" He should have left well enough alone, but he had finally started getting some information out of Harry and he wasn't ready to let the conversation die and fall back into their silence of before.

"Because it's not a spell most people would want to do! I know I wish every single day that I hadn't!" Though the windows were closed, a strong breeze was blowing through the room now, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight, breathing heavily as the wind picked up around him.

Edward had no idea what made him ask the next question. "What was it supposed to do?"

That seemed to break his last thread of control. "Look, I said I don't want to talk about it, okay?!" He all but shouted. His breathing was coming rapidly now, far too rapidly. His previously silent thoughts were not only available to Edward, but were practically broadcasting themselves to him.

_...can't do this, can't do this, can't do this, breathe Harry breathe, have to get out, can't do this..._

His mantra was joined by the sounds of screaming in his head. First just a woman's voice, then dozens of people, possibly hundreds; yelling Harry's name, pleading for him to do something, and underneath it all- the sound of cold, maniacal laughter. The shouts were getting harder and harder to make out as Harry now seemed to be humming loudly in his own mind, a continuous droning sound designed to block out the voices only he (and Edward) could hear.

Edward didn't know what to do; he tried calling Harry's name to get him to focus, but his cries only mixed in with the imagined ones Harry was already hearing. Instead he called for Jasper, and wrapped his cold arms around Harry's waist, trying to anchor him to the here and now while he waited for the empathic vampire to reach them.

It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds before the blond reached them upstairs, but it felt like hours. Jasper ran into the room swiftly with a cringe already marring his features; apparently Harry was relaying his emotions as loudly as he was his thoughts. It didn't take but a moment after Jasper sat next to them on the bed and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder before his breathing began to slow and his eyelids drooped.

"What're you doing to me?" Harry mumbled, slitted green eyes looking up at Jasper.

"Just go to sleep, Harry. You'll feel better after you rest."

Flooded with guilt and relief, Edward watched as the imposed lethargy overcame Harry and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: So I'm not really a believer in love at first sight, and I kept feeling like I was moving this too fast with the love stuff, but finally I was just like, 'They're _vampires! _Shut up and go with it!" So I did, and then I let Rosalie pass that bit of wisdom on as well. What do you think, too fast, too slow? Also, I've made a little headway on future plot points. I've decided to eschew the hot blond tracker (or the nondescript brown-haired tracker depending on your preferred canon) as a bad guy. I'm thinking I may try to do something with the Volturi, or I may just stick to the emotional conflicts in this one and deal with the vampire royalty in a sequel. I'm still undecided about bringing in the Quileute, though if I did, I wouldn't be hating on Jacob, nor would there be any chance of love-triangling. I hate those. So I made a poll. Yay polls! If you have an opinion please drop by my profile page at let it be known. Or be lazy and tell me in a review. Either works.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer_: Sadly, I will never own Harry Potter or Twilight. They belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: I changed the rating to M. I hope that doesn't alienate anyone, but Harry's not quite the gentleman Edward is and his language is a bit coarser. Still no dirty stuff, (sorry!) but he drops the f-bomb and I figured better safe than sorry.

* * *

Chapter Five

_Harry sat on the edge of the forbidden forest just within view of the rubble that used to be Hagrid's hut. He paid no mind to the wreckage around him, eyes fixed instead on his right hand. He formed a loose fist and released it. It had been nine days since the last battle; one week since Poppy had finished fixing his hand. She had repaired the broken tendons and ligaments, replaced the scorched muscle and completely regrown the skin. Still, he could only see it as it had looked directly after the fight; a charred mass of black, still clenched vise-like around his nonexistent wand, gleaming white bone visible in some spots. _

_He lifted his hand closer to his face to study the palm. It was strange, yes; that the scar he had given himself shortly before his wand had disintegrated in his hand was present now, even after the flesh had been burnt away and grown anew. It was hardly the most remarkable of his present circumstances though, and he supposed this scar, like the one that graced his forehead would be with him forever, however long that may be. At least this one wasn't quite so visible._

_He had not gotten a new wand since the destruction of his old one. He had not wanted one, and quite frankly he was not sure he would be able to use one. He had not done magic since that night. Rather, he should say he had not _intentionally_ done magic since that night; the magic had come anyway. It had rolled off him chaotically, flowing out his fingertips and pores uncontrollably and without command. A result, he thought, of having such large amounts of power channeled through his body and then cut off suddenly. He wondered if this too was to be a permanent affliction. He wondered if he cared._

* * *

Harry awoke slowly this time, fighting through the haze of forced sleep. He struggled to lift his eyelids, but even without sight he could tell something was…off. He remained quite still on the bed and focused on his surroundings. The softness of the bed underneath him was the same he had been benefiting from for the past four days. He could detect the smell of something cooking downstairs, which probably meant Mrs. Cullen was going to compel him to eat again. He stifled a groan at the thought of it before getting himself back on track. _Focus, Harry._ There was the faint sound of female laughter also coming from downstairs, probably Alice, she seemed more inclined to giggling than the other girl. There was also the subtle magical presence of a vampire in the room…a vampire that was not Edward. Well, that would explain why something felt different.

He hadn't actually been aware that he could distinguish individual vampires by feel alone, but he supposed spending an extended period of time around one made him more sensitive to the nuances of their magical signature. He wasn't sure which of the Cullens was currently taking up Edward's post, but by the aura of tranquility that seemed to be blanketed over the room he guessed it was Jasper. He slowly pried his heavy lids open and focused his eyes on the vampire sitting by the window. There was a rare beam of sunlight filtering in through the glass, washing over and lending a faint glimmer to the blond who, with his eyes closed and sleeves rolled up, almost appeared to be basking in the warm light. He made no move to open his eyes or speak to Harry, though he was fairly certain the other was aware of his waking. He took advantage of the moment to study the new addition to his room. Like all vampires he was extremely attractive, though with the sunlight shining on him Harry was able to see that he marked with overlapping rows of almost imperceptible crescent shaped scars.

Unlike Harry's own war wounds however, he did not believe these detracted from the vampire's good looks. They should have given him an air of danger; they should have set Harry on edge. It is very difficult to permanently mark a vampire after all, and these particular scars were clearly made by bites. It was obvious that many vampires had at some point tried to kill Jasper, he could only assume the same number had perished in doing so. Instead of being disturbed by this he felt… comfortable. And while the scars hadn't set him on edge, that thought did. He never felt comfortable; that he did now was suspect. He recalled the strange calm and lassitude that had overcome him when Jasper had entered the room the last time he had been awake. Was this vampire somehow able to manipulate Harry's emotions? If that was true how could he trust anything he felt around him?

If there was one thing he hated it was other people in his headspace. He had suffered too long, too hard from it in the past. Too many visions of Death Eater destruction, too many hours of 'remedial potions lessons' with Snape invading his mind, too many years of Voldemort's emotions polluting him- the vile man's hatred and rage coursing through him and egging on his own, his glee over every kill rotting Harry's insides. His friends had known it wasn't his fault; hadn't blamed him when the laughter had bubbled up through Harry's lips when Hagrid had fallen, but it had left him sick all the same, hunched over a toilet bowl for hours trying to expel his tainted guts.

This…well, this wasn't the same at all. He knew that, logically. Jasper wasn't infecting Harry with diseased emotions, he was trying to _help_. He was keeping Harry calm, preventing another freak-out from happening and Harry really couldn't blame him for that. After all, who wanted a panicked, magically out of control wizard on their hands? All the same, Harry could not sanction the influencing of his emotions and he used as much force as he could muster to push the calming effect away from him. It was with a slight jolt that he realized that while the vampire in question certainly seemed to be emanating a gentle aura of peace, he was not directly manipulating Harry's current emotions. That was… well, that made sense, actually. He realized after a moment's thought that the rising panic in him was too familiar to be anyone's but his own. But did that mean his comfort in Jasper's presence was also his own? That was…different. And with that realization he suddenly felt utterly bereft. The panic quickly subsided and he had no idea why he had been so adamant to preserve the sanctity of his own emotions in the first place. What was so great about being free of emotional control? It's not as if he were on such great terms with his own psyche; he _hated_ the way he felt. In fact, at the moment he wanted nothing more than to have someone else's moods imposed on him. He wanted to feel _anything_ but whatever he was _actually_ feeling.

He shook his head and pressed his fingers into his eyelids. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He hated these contradictive desires; they made him feel insane. They clashed together under his skin, rushing faster and faster until he couldn't hold onto a single thought, couldn't focus on any one emotion. It filled him with the urge to tear his own flesh off- slice through it in one long continuous spiral and peel it like an apple. Ron's words from so many years ago rang through his head._ One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode. _The strangled sound that emitted from his throat was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He dropped his hands and opened his eyes again to find Jasper's open as well now, focused on something out the window. His voice was quiet and even. "I'm sorry if my presence has caused you any undue stress." He turned his face to Harry and hesitated before offering, "I could help, if you like."

Harry shook his head forcefully, abruptly shifting back to not wanting his emotions mucked around with. Jasper agreed with a nod and they fell back into silence for a long while before Harry inexplicably found himself blurting, "I think I'm going mad."

Jasper smiled in an encouraging sort of way. "No more so than anyone else that lives here." He said. "Trust me, I'm pretty good at sensing that sort of thing."

"Right. Is that supposed to reassure me? Because no offense, but I'm not entirely sold on your family's sanity at the moment. I mean you have decided to house an unknown, crazed wizard after all. That doesn't exactly scream of common sense, you know." Jasper's grin widened, showing all his teeth. It should have been frightening, Harry noticed distractedly.

"You just need to get out of this room." He said.

Harry perked up a bit at that. He didn't actually think that would restore his confidence on the matter of his mental stability (or that of his hosts), but he was hardly about to turn down a chance to get out of bed.

"Hell yes!" He whooped. "Let's get out of here." He pushed his legs to dangle over the side of the bed and attempted to shift his weight onto his feet. This was, unfortunately, not as easy as it should have been, as one of his legs was still wrapped up in bandages and the bulky temporary cast that he had opted not to replace with the fiberglass one since it would be coming off in a few days anyway. Most of his other bones had finished knitting themselves back together- although his ribs still vehemently protested every time he took too deep a breath or tried to twist at the waist -his left leg though, according to Dr. Cullen, had suffered from a particularly nasty compound fracture and the ankle had almost completely shattered. As such, he could not completely stifle the swift intake of breath that gave away the pain caused by trying to stand.

"Whoa there." Jasper said, moving around the bed with supernatural speed. "I'm already treading on thin ice letting you out of bed. If Esme finds out I let you walk there'll be no saving me."

"I am _not_ being carried anymore." Harry shook his head obstinately.

"No carrying." Jasper promised. "Just a little help."

Harry reluctantly agreed and accepted Jasper's supporting arm and shoulder helping him to his feet. They made their way slowly though the halls and down the two sets of stairs that brought them from Harry's third floor guest room. Taking a moment to rest on the wide curving staircase leading to the ground floor of the house, the young wizard surveyed the area below him. The large room was open and bright, seeming to take up most of the first floor with one wall made almost entirely of glass. The various forms of entertainment arranged around the space hinted at the sleepless nature of its occupants. There was a large flat screen TV with numerous game systems hooked up to it, and some very high-tech looking computers around the corner. To one side there was a shiny black grand piano sitting atop a raised platform, and a variety of games and activities were scattered about the area.

"Do you play chess?" Jasper inquired as they resumed descending the staircase.

"Uh, not very well." He hedged. He hadn't played chess in years, not since Ron. He wasn't sure if he wanted to start again now, it felt almost like a betrayal.

"That's okay. Our rules are a bit different anyway. As long as you know how the different pieces move you'll be all right." The blond replied with another encouraging smile.

Harry was still reluctant to accept until they arrived on the far side of the spacious living room and he saw the elaborate game setup, using eight joined boards and what looked like about four separate sets of pieces. It was a combination of the fact that it looked absolutely nothing like that games of wizard chess he used to play with Ron and his own curiosity about how the strange looking game was played that prompted him to agree.

Jasper waited until he was settled in front on the boards with his heavily bandaged leg stretched out to the side before explaining the complicated and sometimes ridiculous rules to him. There seemed to be a game already in progress and Harry pointed this out as the vampire moved to clear away the pieces.

"Won't the other player get upset if you start over the game?"

"Probably." He replied with an easy grin. "But Emmett was already accusing me of cheating, so what's one more hissy fit?"

Harry didn't exactly agree with that sentiment since this 'hissy fit' would quite possibly be directed at him, not to mention the fact that he didn't think any kind of a temper a 6'5 vampire might work up could ever be branded a hissy fit.

Jasper, apparently sensing Harry's real reluctance to interrupt the ongoing game, quickly compromised rather than try to explain to the strung-out boy that he had nothing to fear from Emmett's wrath. "All right, how about we change it to a three player game then?"

Three player chess sounded strange, but not any stranger than the other rules he'd been given for this game so far. As Jasper moved to a tall cabinet against the wall to dig up more sets of chessmen Harry surreptitiously looked around for the rest of the Cullen family- namely, the bronze-haired vampire that had kept watch at his bedside for the past few days- but the room was devoid of any other people.

He didn't know why this agitated him, but it did. If anything, he should be relieved. He had been irritated to find the vampire's eyes so determinedly focused on him that first morning. Having been gawked at for one reason or another for most of his life, it was right up there with 'people inside his head' on his list of pet peeves. Thoroughly annoyed, he had stared right back, hoping the boy would get the hint and look elsewhere. If anything though, it had only seemed to encourage him and Harry shortly found himself engaged in some sort of weird competition to see who could ogle the other for the longest time without blinking. That first interaction had seemed to set the tone for the rest of their time together and Harry had spent the next several days (when he was conscious) with his gaze trained on the attentive vampire and vice versa.

He had grown almost accustomed to the feel of waking up with Edward in the room, so it was natural that he should be somewhat disconcerted by his absence now, but that didn't explain why he was so troubled by it. He wondered if he'd scared him off with his panic attack and uncontrolled magic. Part of him felt disappointed at the thought while the other half couldn't help but feel a grim sense of satisfaction. After all, it asserted, they _should_ be afraid of him.

Jasper, apparently having found enough sets of pieces to successfully add a third player to the odd game settled back on the opposite side of the board. He opened the boxes and gathered all the black chessmen to set up on the board…next to the nearly identical pieces of the black players already on the board.

"Hmm. I see I didn't think this one all the way through." He mused.

Without thinking, Harry reached out to touch one piece and without a word changed all the chessmen in question from black marble to frosted glass. Within a split second of completing the transfiguration Alice appeared in the room, a blur of dark hair and pale skin bounding in from what he assumed was the kitchen. "Did I miss it?" She excitedly asked the room at large.

Jasper seemed to know what she was talking about even if Harry didn't and replied, "Yes, by just a second."

"Darn it!" She exclaimed. She perched herself gracefully at Jasper's side before playfully accusing Harry. "You need to start thinking about things before you do them. Give a girl a moment to react!"

"Um…sorry?" He bewilderedly turned to Jasper for clarification.

"Alice wanted to see you do magic." He explained with an indulgent sort of smile. "She's been waiting for days. Carlisle refused to let her ask for a demonstration until you were feeling better."

"We've never had a wizard before." The pixie-like girl added cheerfully.

Harry had no idea how to respond to that comment so he ignored it in favor of pondering the larger question at hand. "How did you know I was going to do magic?"

"Alice is special." Jasper supplied. "She sees things- possible futures."

"A seer." Harry confirmed flatly. Bloody great. "You don't…make prophecies, do you?" He hoped he didn't sound as tense as he felt.

The pair looked somewhat surprised by this question, but thankfully didn't ask him to explain. Alice shook her head in answer. "I didn't know prophecies were real. I'm not sure how that would work, actually. The future is a very subjective thing, nothing's set in stone. I can only see things that _might_ be coming, and that changes every time someone makes a decision. That's what makes it very difficult with you. You don't give me long to see things before they happen, you're too impulsive."

"Yeah, I've been told that before." He shrugged casually and pushed aside the tendril of grief that tried to creep up, whispering that his impulsivity had gotten people _killed_. He was not ready yet to be dragged back into the abyss of depression. "I can do another spell." He offered, determined to keep the mood light. "What would you like to see?"

"Can you make things fly?" She asked, eyes glowing with enthusiasm.

Stifling a smirk, Harry reacted quickly so she wouldn't get the chance to see what he was going to do. Incanting aloud to make it look more impressive, he levitated Alice above their heads and floated her about the room. The petite girl laughed aloud and stretched gracefully, pretending to dance through the air.

"That was great!" She cheered upon being set down. "What's up with the Latin?"

"It's how most spells are done, in the European part of the wizarding world at least."

"Weird."

"That's a pretty neat trick to have." Jasper added thoughtfully.

"Yours too. I didn't know vampires could do things like that. Seeing the future and…" He made in indistinct hand gesture. "…What you do. Can you all do that?"

"No, our abilities are specific to ourselves- traits carried over from our human lives. Or so we believe."

"What about the others?"

"Edward has a gift as well." Jasper said, not expounding. His tone and countenance were still pleasant, but did not invite further inquiry. Harry could respect that.

"Where is Edward anyway?" He asked instead, aiming for- but not quite achieving- nonchalance. He didn't miss the look Jasper shot towards Alice before answering, but he had no idea what it was conveying.

"Carlisle took him out hunting with Emmett and Rosalie. He was feeling very badly about having upset you earlier."

"_He_ feels badly? Why? I'm the one that flipped out on him."

Alice and Jasper seemed to study him for a long moment before Jasper replied carefully, "I believe he feels that you would not have done so were it not for his line of questioning."

"Oh. Eh, no not really. I mean… well, sort of, yeah. But it would have happened eventually anyway." He would have expected one of them to question him about that, but just as Jasper did not sanction people's noses in his business, he seemed content to let Harry leave it at that; and though the curiosity was rampant on Alice's face, she too kept her peace.

They began playing the game then, with Alice taking Emmett's moves for him so he couldn't complain later (though Harry got the feeling she was purposely setting it up so that he would lose). Esme came in not much later, carrying a tray stacked high with hot sandwiches, fresh pasta salad and frosty sodas. He had no idea how he could be expected to eat that much food, but thanked her anyway, resolving to throw half of it out the window the first chance he got. He held back a groan as she sat down on a chair nearby, either to watch the game, or to make sure Harry ate, he wasn't sure which.

He was only about a quarter of the way though the meal when he sensed the rest of the Cullens returning home- minutes before he saw or heard them. He bristled a little as something inside him trilled happily when he felt Edward's presence approaching the house. He viciously stamped it down when Jasper smiled at him amusedly. The door opened and the remaining Cullens breezed in, chatting amongst themselves and looking for all the world like a picture out of a magazine. It was only as he absentmindedly noted the water dripping from Edward's darkened hair and sluicing down the contours of his throat that he realized what that meant.

"Is it raining?" He blurted loudly, and then squirmed uncomfortably as all four stopped talking and turned to look at him.

Edward laughed- a low, attractive chuckle, and responded with a smile. "We're in Forks, Harry. It's pretty much always raining."

Harry, however, did not share Edward's amusement. "Bugger. I've got to get my bike. I left it outside, it'll rust. It's been, what, four days?" He asked as he struggled to get to his feet. "What day is it anyway?"

"It's Tuesday afternoon." Edward answered, still smiling irritatingly. Seeing Harry's blank look he added. "Carlisle brought you here very early Friday morning."

"Right. Can someone give me a ride?" He asked, still trying to stand even as Edward placed one strong hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down to the floor.

"Relax, Harry. Alice will run and get it for you, just tell us where it is."

"No, that's ok, I'd prefer to get it myself." He shrugged off Edward's hand and finally succeeded in rising from the floor.

The amusement was gone from the vampire's face now and he seemed more annoyed than anything. "Don't be absurd Harry. You're in no shape to be riding a motorcycle right now."

"I'm in fine shape." He shot back obstinately, even as he struggled to balance on one leg

The smirk was back in place now. "And how do you plan on shifting gears with that?" He asked, nodding his head to the cast on Harry's left leg.

"I'll…work something out. Would you just give me a ride already?" His words were terse, the pain already starting to lance through his leg and ribs. He briefly considered just apparating to his bike before discarding the idea as he had done each time he'd thought of escaping since coming to the Cullen's. His magic could be spotty on a good day- when he was injured it was down right erratic. He might not be able to die from it, but the last thing he needed was to accidentally apparate himself to Antarctica with no legs or something as equally stupid and painful.

"Fine." Edward said, his voice a little too triumphant for Harry to believe he was actually giving in. "Just walk out to the garage and I'll give you a lift."

Ah. There was the catch. It would be stupid to try, he knew, but he was nothing if not stubborn, especially when brassed off. He took a step.

And promptly collapsed. "Buggering fuck!" He yelled. Edward was no longer laughing at him, but he was pissed off anyway- angry at the vampire, angry at his own weakness, most of all angry at himself since he was to blame for the situation in the first place. He could feel the magic in him rising, responding to his fury. But before he had the chance to even try to squash it back down the plates on his abandoned tray of food shattered noisily, flinging shards of glass and tableware around the room. Silence reigned as the Cullens stared at him in shock and Harry searched frantically for something to say.

"Oops."

* * *

_Author's Note_: I'm _so_ sorry it took me so long to get this out. Harry's sort of a jumble of mixed up emotions and I had a tricky time of it trying to convey what he was feeling while still remaining somewhat coherent. The boy's really a mess and it's difficult (and not entirely pleasant) getting into his headspace. Not to mention he hates it when I do that and kept trying to kick me out. On the upside, this is my longest chapter yet! I hope you guys aren't too mad that it didn't include much Edward. I probably should have included a little romance for Valentine's Day, but I wanted to give Jasper and Alice some screen time. And I did warn you after all, that I wanted to focus on familial relations. I love me some Jasper/Harry bonding.

P.S. Thank you so much for the great reviews. They kept me motivated when I really sort of just wanted to give up on this chapter. Also, the poll's still up and working correctly now. Let me know what you think if you haven't already!


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer_: I do not own any of the stuff owned by other people. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: All right, yes. It's been a full month since my last update. I suck. But I was trying to work out an actual sort of plot for my story and I decided that to do so I really needed to read the rest of the Twilight series so that I might have an idea of what I was talking about. And yay! I finished! For the most part I even enjoyed it. (Still like HP crossovers better, but that's what fanfiction is for, right?) And what's that you say? She has a plot? ::gasp, shock:: Well, no, not really. But she does have _parts_ of something _resembling_ a plot. So, I really think that's a start, don't you? Also, **and this is the important part people-** in trying to put together an outline I came to the realization that I made a mistake with my dates. I had originally put the date as Sept. 2005, four and a half months before Twilight started. Except, um... that's wrong. That's actually seven and a half months _after _it started. So, if you had happened to notice that, please take note that this is now taking place in Sept. of 2004. And if you didn't...well, carry on.

* * *

Chapter Six

_'Oops?' Oh, that's brilliant Potter, really profound. Harry Potter, wordsmith extraordinaire. Yeah, that's you. _Despite there being only one person in the room with a British accent, it took Edward a minute to realize that the acerbic thoughts were coming from Harry himself.

"What the hell was that?" Rosalie spat, brushing a stray piece of pasta off her shoulder.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Carlisle asked at the same time, sending a chiding look Rosalie's way.

"Sorry. Bollocks, I'm really sorry. Sometimes my magic gets away from me a bit. I have a slight…issue with control." Harry rubbed a hand over his forehead agitatedly. _Shut up, shut up, shut up, you stupid fuckwit!_ The nearby chessmen were still vibrating almost imperceptibly and Edward swore he could feel the magic in the room, arcing through the air and sparking off his skin.

"That was a spell? Cool." Emmett's voice was full of obvious approval.

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry?" Carlisle asked again, trying to draw Harry's attention away from apologies and explanations and to the more important issue at hand. "You weren't hit by any of the glass?"

_Not like it would matter if it had_. _Could probably slice my bloody head off and I still wouldn't die. _"No, I'm fine. Look, I'm really sorry about all the…" He trailed off, gesturing to the mess around him. "I didn't mean to."

Hearing that alarming thought from Harry, Edward had to forcibly restrain himself from rushing to his side and physically checking him over for any new injuries. He didn't want to scare the boy though, so he maintained his composure and settled for smelling the air to determine that there was no fresh blood in the room. Though no one else could hear what Harry was thinking, it seemed they too were wary of upsetting the distraught young man, and the room was quiet for a long moment except for the clatter of a fork falling to the floor from its precarious position on an exposed ceiling beam.

"What about the funny Latin thing?" Alice finally broke the silence. "I thought you had to say a bunch of stuff to make magic work."

"Huh? Oh, um, not really, no. I mean, yes. I mean- well you do, or most people do anyway. That was accidental magic. It's er...not supposed to happen, but it does sometimes anyway." _To me at least. _"It doesn't require an incantation, it just sort of…erm, does things. Responds to your subconscious wishes, I guess you could say. Which is bad when apparently what you subconsciously want to do is throw a lot of crockery around." _...or set fire to everything within a 100-meter radius_, _or flay a man alive... _Edward barely noticed the almost invisible flinch that crossed Harry's face. He didn't miss it though, when Harry rubbed at his forehead again and flattened his hair down over it nervously. "I really am sorry. I'll fix it all." He apologized yet again.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. We forgive you." Jasper finally said, hoping the boy might stop saying he was sorry if someone actually accepted it.

Harry's eyes and thoughts reflected his surprise at Jasper's easy pardon, and he shot the blond an appreciative half-smile. Appearing more relaxed now, his eyes fell closed again and as he took several deep, calming breaths the wild thoughts floating at the front of his mind seemed to sink down beneath the surface and disappear. Edward didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved by that. He really had no idea what to think of Harry's strange inner discourse.

"Right. So I take it you're not going to take me to get my bike then." Harry's voice was calm now, even containing a bit of humor, though Edward had no idea how genuine it was.

"I think perhaps it would be best to let one of the children fetch it for you." Carlisle said carefully.

"Alice will go and get it." Edward added.

Harry heaved a large put upon sigh. "Yeah, I had a feeling you were going to say that." He eyed Alice speculatively. "And, uh... you're a good driver, right?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm a seer Harry, I've never even gotten a traffic ticket. I would definitely see it if I were going to crash your...oh. Darn."

"What? What's wrong? You're going to total it, aren't you? That's it, no way are you riding my bike." Harry said, shaking his head fervently and causing Emmett to snicker.

"I'm not going to crash it." She huffed. "But you're right. I don't get to ride it either."

"Why not?" The others asked at the same time, except for Edward, who groaned out loud at the vision he saw in Alice's head.

"Harry's about to tell us where he left the bike." Alice supplied. "It's in the forest off the 110 about a mile from the cliffs."

"In La Push." Edward finished for her.

"And…that's a problem?" Harry asked.

"It is for us. I'm afraid we can't pick up your bike for you, Harry. We have a treaty with the people of La Push that restricts us from entering the reservation." Carlisle explained.

"I don't get it. Why would you make a treaty to keep off their land? I mean, why would they even want you to, unless they know you're vampires and that wouldn't really make…wait, they know you're vampires?" The looks on everyone's faces answered his question before he could even finish voicing it. "Right, um…just basing this on my own experiences of course, but isn't it generally the practice of supernatural beings to hide the fact that they are supernatural beings from the non-supernatural beings?"

Carlisle smiled at Harry with affection, pleased to hear the small bit of flippancy from the boy instead the anger and anxiety from before. "Generally yes, that is the custom. A percentage of the La Push residents are magical creatures in their own right however. They discovered our nature through their own means when we lived here previously some decades ago and so it was neither possible nor necessary to keep the information protected from them on our return. We uphold the treaty and they keep our secret."

"What kind of magical creatures are they?"

"Werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Harry sounded more shocked than he would have expected considering how blasé he'd been about finding out his doctor was a vampire. "I'm confused. You said you made the treaty when you last lived here, which had to have been what, _at least_ over half a century ago, right? So how is it that the werewolves are still around? If anything their lifespan tends to be less than that of an average human."

"Yes, it was around 70 years ago. However, it is not the same pack as before, but a new one. Their grandchildren I believe, or great-grandchildren. Unfortunately, the Quileute have long memories, original pack or not."

The disgust was clear to see on Harry's face. "They're intentionally infecting their children?"

"Infected? No, no. I'm afraid I did not explain this well. The La Push pack, while they refer to themselves as werewolves, are more like…shapeshifters, if you will. They change at will, not at the full moon, and the ability seems to be inborn rather than anything that is spread through infection."

"Animagi…" Harry breathed.

"What's that?" Emmett asked.

"Wizards that can change into animals at will. But they're not wizards you say?" He kept his face schooled in a look of mild curiosity, but his eyes gave away his apprehension. Now if only Edward could figure out _why_ he was apprehensive.

"Not as far as I know. If they are they've displayed no signs of it." Carlisle responded.

"Great. So my bike's stuck in the forest with a bunch of wolves until I can walk on my own. Spectacular."

"I imagine it should only be another few days. If you'd like I'll check your progress again tonight, see if I can't give you a more precise answer."

"Thanks. I just…really like that bike. Not to mention all my stuff is with it. I don't even have any _clothes_." The realization seemed to hit him as he said it out loud and he looked down at himself in confusion. "Um…whose clothes am I wearing?"

"Mine." Edward couldn't quite contain the smirk that struggled to appear at Harry's answering blush.

"Your clothes were beyond saving and Edward is the closest in size to you." Carlisle explained. Even as the smallest male in the family Edward stood a few inches taller than Harry, and the pants, hanging dangerously low on his narrow hips, had to be rolled up at the bottoms to keep the ends from dragging. Edward found it to be a strange combination of sexy and adorable.

"Ed's just glad he's not the runtiest guy in the house anymore." Emmett added with a chuckle.

"Runty? 5'10 in the median height for men in the U.K. thank you very much." Harry bristled. "Just because you're all enormous... what's with that anyway?" He asked turning to Carlisle. "Does turning into a vampire make you grow taller or do you have some kind of weird rule about only changing excessively tall people?"

Edward couldn't help but join Emmett in his laughter at that, causing Harry to bristle even harder (which privately, just made Edward laugh more). The wizard continued to glower at him for a good few minutes until Edward was able to rein in his mirth and Alice managed to convince him to continue their game of chess. She was, of course, promptly kicked out of it as Emmett reclaimed his place and accused them all of cheating.

* * *

It was a full two days later before Edward got any significant amount of time alone with Harry, not including when he was sleeping (which was still not creepy thank you very much). The rest of the family had grown increasingly enamored of Harry- Edward figured Rosalie's indifference was about as close as she got to liking someone- and he was having a harder time getting the boy to himself. Jasper especially, contrary to all his previous interaction with humans, seemed particularly fond of the young wizard. And so it was with great pleasure that Edward found himself entirely alone with Harry on Thursday afternoon, not a single other creature to compete with for Harry's attention. Except, of course, for the owl.

They were sprawled on the living room couch, not quite touching, but close enough that Edward could feel the heat of his body. Harry was looking almost relaxed when a large, white bird swooped into the room through the open window, it's right wing hitting the back of the human's head with an audible thwack as it did.

"Hey! What the-" Harry started to exclaim, turning accusing eyes to Edward before catching sight of the bird. He huffed in exasperation. "Was that entirely necessary, Hedwig?"

The owl, apparently called Hedwig, landed lightly on top of a nearby shelf and promptly turned it's back to Harry.

"Oh, come on! It's not even been two months!" The bird ruffled it's feathers but showed no other response. "I'm not going to apologize. It's your own fault if you can't keep up. I told you you should just go back to England."

Edward watched on in amusement as Harry continued to carry on a one-sided argument with an avian. "Friend of yours?" He asked once Harry, apparently having lost the dispute, crossed his arms with a humph.

Harry smiled ruefully. "Something like that."

"Strange sort of pet to keep."

"It's fairly common in the wizarding world actually." He rolled his eyes as Hedwig gave an indignant hoot (though how a hoot could be indignant, Edward had no idea). "Not that Hedwig could ever be considered common." He placated the owl. "Lots of people keep owls though. They're used to deliver post."

"I...see." He said, though really that was one of the weirdest things he'd heard about wizards yet. "He seems a bit upset with you, if you don't mind me saying."

"She." Harry corrected. "And not at all. She's in a right strop, she is."

"She? I thought females had more barring than that."

"Generally, they do. I think she must have considered that a bit pedestrian for her though. Couldn't have those nasty bars marking up her magnificent plumage. Either that or she's an albino or something." Harry said, a devious little smile quirking his lips. This only seemed to incense the owl further, as indicated by her angry screech.

"What? I said you were magnificent, didn't I?" He rolled his eyes again and turned to Edward. "She gets a bit peeved at me when I don't stick around any place too long. Post Owls are pretty good at tracking people, and Hedwig's better than most, but if I move too much it's hard for her to pinpoint my location and catch up to me. I've told her to just let it go all ready and move back ho- to England, but she's a stubborn old girl." From the affection that was clear in Harry's eyes as he looked at his owl, Edward guessed that Harry was secretly pleased that she hadn't done as he'd told her and returned to England.

"You said it's been two months since you've seen her? But you've only been here a week. You can't mean you haven't stayed in anyplace for more than a week in two months."

"Yeah, I'm not really one for... sticking around." Edward tried to ignore the bolt of anxiety that shot through him at that. "Do you think you still have any bacon and toast in your kitchen or do you expect your mum's cooked up everything in the tri-county area by now?" The young wizard asked, oblivious to Edward's worries.

The teasing nature of Harry's question went a ways in easing his mind. Perhaps the human hadn't been one for staying long in any one place in the past, but it was clear from his joking that he was starting to feel more comfortable with the Cullen family. Edward had nothing to worry about. He would find a way to convince Harry to stay.

"I'm quite sure there is in fact. She sent Emmett to the store again today." He smiled when Harry groaned. "I'm surprised you're asking for it, actually. I think this is the first time you've _wanted_ to eat since you came here."

"I might be more prone to hunger if she actually gave me more than an hour or two in between meals." He defended. "She does know humans generally eat only three times a day, right?"

"I'm fairly sure that she does." Edward said, seriously considering the question before answering. "She's just worried about your health. You didn't look the best when Carlisle brought you home, you know."

"Yeah, well I imagine no one looks that great in comparison to this family. Anyway, it's not for me. It's for Hedwig. I've got to do something to make nice or she's liable to peck me to death when I try to go to sleep tonight."

"For Hedwig. Bacon and toast?"

"Yeah, it's the damndest thing, but she loves it. I think it has something to do with years of nicking food off my breakfast plate when delivering the morning mail."

"All right." He chuckled. "I'll see what I can fix up."

"No, I'll get it. She won't accept it as proper atonement unless I toil over it myself." Harry huffed a bit as Edward helped him up from the sofa, but he didn't let that stop him from keeping a supportive arm around the limping boy as they made their way to the kitchen.

Edward started gathering ingredients as Harry set himself up on a tall stool at the counter. "She likes her toast with jam. Strawberry, if you have it." Harry added as Edward passed him an unopened package of bacon.

"This is a very strange owl." Edward laughed quietly.

"Better not let her hear you say that." Harry reprimanded. "Or you'll be fixing apology porridge while I spread the jam."

It was lucky for him, he supposed, that Hedwig waited until then to fly into the kitchen. It was not as lucky for Harry, whose shoulder she chose to land on, causing him to shift his weight as she settled.

"Bugger!" Harry cried out as the knife slipped in his hand and nicked his palm.

"You cut yourself." Edward said, reaching out to grip Harry's hand. He could smell the blood welling up from the small cut, but the images he saw flashing through Harry's mind were of something else. _Colored lights flying all around- bodies littering the ground- a silver knife in Harry's thin hand, cutting a long line down his palm- wrapping the freely bleeding wound around the handle of a wand- lips moving continuously as the wand raised, pointing at a red-eyed man._ And just as quickly as the images appeared, they cut off, and Harry's mind was lost to him again.

"Shit. I'm sorry- the blood." Harry was holding his hand under the cold tap, pressing firmly on the cut to try and staunch the bleeding. "You should get out of here."

"It doesn't bother me." Edward said absently, still somewhat disoriented. "You cut yourself." He said it again, still trying to assimilate what he had just seen with his current reality.

"Uh... yeah, I know. Are you okay, Edward?" Harry asked, giving him a strange look. He didn't respond, just continued to stare at Harry with what he was sure was a dazed look. He couldn't help it; the sight of Harry like that- surrounded by death, fighting what looked like a war- he was having trouble comprehending it.

"Look, don't worry about it, it's not deep. See? Already healing." Harry assured him when he still hadn't said anything, holding up his hand to show him the cut that was already scabbing over.

"Not here." Edward said, "Here." He ran his finger down a scar an inch to the right of the fresh nick, directly over where his lifeline should be. It was surprising that he hadn't noticed the mark before; unlike most of Harry's other scars, which had healed so well as to be indistinguishable to a human eye, this one stood out shiny and slightly raised, as if it had been made somewhat recently. Only the scars on his forehead and wrists matched it in intensity. Though on second thought, perhaps it wasn't so surprising he hadn't seen it before. He had noticed days ago that Harry had a tendency- whether intentional or unconscious, he wasn't sure- to keep that hand hidden. He continually kept the cuff of Edward's slightly too long shirtsleeves gripped in his balled up hand and though he seemed to be right handed he typically picked things up with his unmarked left hand. Among the wizard's myriad other strange actions though, it hadn't seemed to be anything important. Judging by Harry's reaction now, he had obviously been wrong in that conclusion.

Harry's body immediately went tense as he jerked his hand away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because it was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

Doesn't matter? Well, that was the most obvious lie he'd heard since Harry had come here. It was the former statement that really caught his interest though. Granted, humans had much different parameters for what constituted 'a long time' but he was still curious. "How long?"

Perhaps he wanted to prove to Edward just how much it didn't matter by telling him how far in the past it was, or perhaps he just didn't see the danger in where the question was leading. Either way, there was no hesitation or artifice when he answered. "About six years."

"Six years."

"That's what I said. Can we talk about something else?" He could hear the stress starting to creep into Harry's voice.

He was too intrigued to let it go entirely, but he knew better now than too push Harry too far. He still felt guilty about upsetting the young man so much three days ago, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause him more distress. "Sure. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Oh. Um…okay." Harry said and then continued slicing bacon in silence.

"That usually involves some talking, you know." He pointed out after a full minute had passed without a word said.

Harry chuckled nervously. "Sorry. I've never been very good at the talking thing. I can't really think of anything to say."

Edward saw his opening. He should have felt bad, he _did_ feel bad, trying to get information from Harry that he obviously wasn't willing to give, but he was too curious to not get answers to his questions. "Well, how about you start off easy? For example, how old are you?" He used his most charming and non-threatening voice, the one he used when he wanted a teacher to excuse him from class and often inadvertently caused the much older (appearing) women- and sometimes the occasional man- to have inappropriate thoughts about him.

"19." Harry answered. The hesitation was so slight that a human wouldn't have picked up on it.

Nineteen. Old enough that people wouldn't question him being on his own, but probably close enough that he could easily pass. Edward had spent the last 80 odd years though pretending to be older or younger than his physical age and living with a houseful of others who did the same. The hesitation, the way he held his shoulders, the inflection in his voice when he answered; Edward would bet his Vanquish that Harry was not 19. And even if he were, that would mean the memory he had seen of Harry cutting his hand- _Harry fighting a battle_- was from when he was 13. Except that he had looked exactly the same as he did now. So either Harry was lying about how long it had been... or Harry hadn't aged in six years.

Neither option made any sense. Harry had no reason to lie; he didn't know that Edward had seen his flashback and therefore didn't know that Edward knew the mark had some significance. As far as Harry knew, Edward probably thought he gotten the scar from a kitchen implement or a power tool, so why not just tell him he'd done it last month? But the alternative…well, the alternative was too ridiculous to consider. It wasn't possible that Harry hadn't aged. Harry wasn't immortal. He could hear his heartbeat. He could feel the heat coming off his body and smell the blood rushing through his veins.

And yet… and yet the pieces were clicking together. Conversations he'd had with the young wizard, strange thoughts that had escaped his perplexing mental barriers. _…the way things are is that you survive horrific falls…call it spell damage…slice my bloody head off and I still wouldn't die… _Harry's six-year-old memories, looking as though they had just happened yesterday. Harry, with scars on his wrists and shadows in his eyes. Harry, who had jumped from a cliff, not as a form of recreation, but in hope of death. Jumped like Esme had jumped when she'd lost her child. Like Carlisle had jumped when he'd realized what he'd become. How many times had Carlisle tried before he'd given up? How many times would Harry try? No, this was absurd. Harry was human. There was nothing about him that suggested he might be a vampire. Except for the fact that he didn't seem to age or die.

"…are you, Edward?" As usual, the sound of his name drew his attention and he broke away from his musings to refocus on the boy in front of him.

"Sorry. What did you say?"

Harry had finished preparing Hedwig's apology meal and was now feeding it to her piece by piece. "I asked how old you are."

"Physically or actually?"

"How about both?" Harry seemed to be more comfortable with the direction of the conversation focused on Edward and he even quirked his lips a bit at the corners when Edward smiled at him.

"I've been alive for a little over a hundred years, but I was 17 when Carlisle changed me."

"Why did he do it?"

"I was dying. There was an epidemic. My father had already passed and my mother was soon to join him. She asked Carlisle to save me." It was the nutshell version, but further explanation would take too long and he was still too engrossed with the mystery that was Harry Potter to delve too deeply into his own history.

"And you don't hate him for it." Harry responded. It was not a question, but the modulation of his voice clearly showed that he was striving to understand.

"No, I don't think I could. I suppose I resented him some when I was much younger. But I care for him too much to ever hate him. He's my father."

"Yeah…your father." The words were so soft they were almost a whisper. He wished desperately that that window to Harry's mind would open back up so that he could see what caused that wistful timbre in his voice.

Done with her breakfast, and in spite of (or perhaps because of) the suddenly melancholy atmosphere in the room, Hedwig chose that moment to collect a sheet of loose-leaf paper from the kitchen table and carry it back over, setting it quite blatantly in front of Harry and hooting in a way that sounded strangely directive.

"Oh bloody- for the love of Circe, Hedwig, _no_."

"What does she want?" Edward asked, confused by the exchange that had just taken place.

"Nothing."

He managed to hold his tongue this time and was surprised when after a moments pause, Harry continued without any prompting from Edward. "She wants me to send a letter. She thinks she's not being used to her full potential- gets after me every now and then to send her out with something."

"So why don't you just mail something?"

Harry's voice was more detached than he'd ever heard it when he answered. "She doesn't understand. There's no one to send anything to."

He felt as if he'd taken a punch to the gut._ No one to send anything to_. He knew from Carlisle that Harry claimed not to have anyone to take care of him, but what did that mean exactly? Possibly his family was all dead from this battle (_war_?) he'd fought, but there must be _someone_- some friend, some person to have raised him. He just couldn't believe that this captivating boy was entirely alone in the world. Even Edward who was something of a self-described loner had his family, and beyond that a few friends and acquaintances. He didn't know what to say. There was nothing _to_ say. He cleaned up the bacon scraps.

* * *

It started out quietly, so quietly he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching Harry so intently as he slept. His breath hitched and his heart rate picked up ever so slightly. The tiniest of furrows formed between his eyebrows and Edward reached out one cold finger to tenderly smooth it away. If he'd known what was coming he probably would have woken Harry immediately, but as it was he'd never seen the boy locked in a nightmare before and so when he started whining softly in the back of his throat he attempted to soothe him with soft shushing noises and gentle hands. It wasn't until he started jerking and trying to recoil from Edward's hands that he attempted to see into his mind, and what he found was not at all what he had expected. He'd anticipated blood and bodies; the reality was something entirely different but apparently even more terrifying to the dreaming wizard.

_Harry stood alone in the middle of a wide, empty plain. There were no walls, trees, or hills, nothing to block his view of the bare horizon in every direction. He seemed to be quite frantic, searching for something and finding nothing but more empty space. He grew more and more frenzied and appeared to be trying to claw at the air in front of him, as if it wasn't really empty space, but a pretense of empty space- as if it was just some backdrop painting of a horizon and if he could only tear through it, he could get to the other side. Underneath Harry's fearful and anguished sobs, he could hear the sound of faint whispering, murmuring voices coming from all around though there was no one to be seen._

By the time he pulled out of Harry's mind, the sleeping boy seemed to be even more panic-stricken. He was hyperventilating; soft whimpers escaping his throat on every other too-fast breath. Tears were streaming freely down his porcelain cheeks. Edward swiftly moved to sit on the bed.

"Harry." He gently shook his shoulders. "Harry, wake up." He shifted his position to lean over the now thrashing boy.

With a gasp, Harry's eyes opened wide and one pale, scarred hand shot out like a dart and grabbed the front of Edward's shirt. "Don't leave." The words were hoarse and pleading, his eyes wild, still unfocused and glazed over with sleep. His hand was shaking, but his grip remained firm.

"Shh. I'm not going anywhere." He soothed. "It's okay, you're okay. It was only a dream. I'm right here."

His quiet murmurings seemed to be doing their job and Harry's eyes drooped, easily falling back into sleep. His tight fist relaxed a little, but did not release its hold. He curled his fingers in between the buttons on the front of Edward's shirt and pulled him in closer. Edward could feel the knuckles of his warm hand brush against his chest under the shirt and for just a second, he let his worries about Harry fall away and allowed himself to just feel content in this all too brief moment. Harry's heartbeat was slow and regular in his ears and beyond that, the sounds of his family entertaining themselves with trivial amusements filtered up to him. Their thoughts were lighthearted and warm, and most importantly, held no disapproval for his current position as Harry's bedside sentry. It had been a relief to learn that his family did not condemn him for this. Emmett was bewildered, yes, and Jasper was amused, but both of those were less to do with the object of his affections and more regarding the idea of Edward in love at all. Esme and Alice were both ecstatic, and Carlisle was just happy to see him happy. Rosalie was still just feeling utterly satisfied in her belief that Edward's lack of romantic interest in her from over 70 years prior was due to his apparent homosexuality and not any lack of desirability on her part. All the same, he appreciated having her shallow acceptance along with everyone else's.

He had been so caught off guard, discovering he had the potential to love someone, that the fact that that someone was a boy hadn't even registered at first. It had never occurred to him before that he might love another man, but then, it had never occurred to him that he might love anyone at all, so that was hardly surprising. In over a hundred years on this planet, he had never felt an attraction to anyone, man or woman, and that's how he had expected things to continue.

He had been raised to believe in certain things, and he wasn't one to change or disregard parts of his beliefs just because they no longer suited him. He did not disregard his certainty in the afterlife or eternal souls just because he no longer had one. Being alive for over a century may have made him more open-minded and tolerant than he had been during his human life, but vampires were for the most part unchanging creatures, both physically and mentally, and being brought up in a puritanical society did have its effects after all. So it had come as something of a shock when Rosalie had thought of him as gay and he had realized it was true. The idea had taken a few days to sink in, and when it finally had...well, it didn't really change anything. He knew he should be more bothered by the fact that he _wasn't_ more bothered by it, but he just couldn't find it in him to be. It felt too right caring for Harry this way. He had waited for this for too long- though he hadn't realized he was waiting- to be deterred by a little thing like gender. Humanity, however- well, he'd save that roadblock for when he got to it.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Apparently, I'm just a big ol' softie. I've made it my mission to kill off as many Potter characters as I could in this story and really just devastate Harry, but in the end I couldn't do away with Hedwig. I just love her too much. For the record, even though JK does it in her books, I'm pretty sure feeding bacon and toast to owls is bad, so um…don't do it. No owls were harmed in the making of this story. I do not, however, guarantee the safety of any Harrys. In other news, poll is in and the overwhelming majority of you requested shapeshifters, but no Volturi. And so it shall be. Probably. I'm following through on the shapeshifters at least (as you can see). As always feedback is really, really appreciated. That's the longest chapter I've put out so far, I'd love to know what you thought of it!


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer_: Nothing belongs to me but the plot and punctuation errors. Harry Potter and Twilight are owned by J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: Yeah, so I got about two-thirds of the way into this chapter before I realized that I had accidentally written it in present tense. So then I had to go back and change everything over which was sort of off-putting so I kind of left it to languish there for a while. Sorry about that. I really liked the first draft too, and I'm not sure if it sounds quite right like this, but what can you do, right? I think I got all those pesky present tense verbs out of here, but please do let me know if you spot a mistake so I can go back and fix it!

* * *

Chapter Seven

_"No." The old man said. "No, I don't believe that is the path for you to take, my boy."_

_"What then?" Harry insisted heatedly. "If you won't teach me to kill him, what would you have me do?"_

_"The killing curse withers the hearts and souls of those who wield it. Your power, Harry, lies not in your ability to destroy, but in your capacity to love above all else. It is the one thing you possess that Tom Riddle does not."_

_White-hot anger bubbled up inside of him from the near-constant simmer he maintained. "I've never been in love! And not a single goddamn person has ever loved me! My own flesh and blood can't stand the sight of me; you **know** that, **you** left me with them. I know **nothing** of love. And even if I did, how am I supposed to use that to kill Voldemort?" _

_Dumbledore's eyes did not twinkle as they regarded him from behind half-moon glasses. "Love comes in a great many forms, Harry, and you possess a good deal more of it than you realize. It is what has caused you so much sorrow this past year. I have long wished that I could take some of your pain for you, but your ability to feel it so deeply is a very powerful force. I believe the answer to defeating Voldemort lies within it."_

_More vague half answers and cosseting platitudes. When would they stop treating him like a child? "So you won't teach me." He said flatly._

_"No. I will not teach you this." Dumbledore sighed and seemed to wilt before his eyes. Harry was reminded of just how much the man had aged in the last year, and for a moment he found himself wishing that things could be the way they used to between them, but he couldn't find it within him to dredge up the old admiration and affection. There was too much bitterness there now, too much mistrust between them._

_His eyes were cold when he spoke again, his voice impassive. "You know the prophecy, you **know** what I must do. A nation is depending on me Professor, and you would have me sit back and watch the world burn, waiting for some unknown power to manifest itself." For just a moment, the hard exterior he wore like a shell now cracked and revealed the scared boy underneath. "Please, Professor," he whispered in a broken voice, "I can't watch any more people die."_

_"I am so sorry, my boy, so very sorry. I know that I have done you a terrible disservice, but I fear there is nothing I can do to lighten your load. It is a terrible burden that we ask of you, Harry, but I believe that you have the strength to bear it."_

_Harry stood and turned to leave without a sound. There was nothing to say, no words to describe his grief and disappointment and rage. _

_"They would be so proud of you, Harry. Your parents, and Sirius." Dumbledore spoke to his retreating back._

_He paused in his departure, and for a moment he stood stock-still before the exit, his hand resting on the doorknob, not looking back. "No, they wouldn't." He said. "And I don't care." He walked out the door._

* * *

Harry woke up seething. Dreaming of Dumbledore always filled him with a frustrating mixture of anger and loss. He viciously tried to stamp down the memories. He didn't want to think about this now, didn't want to feel the numerous emotions that it brought with it. Righteous anger he could handle- hell, he welcomed it. It was a break from the never-ending cycle of depression and numbness. It burned and swelled inside him and filled up the terrible emptiness there, however briefly. It gave him energy again, made him feel alive- almost like he actually _cared_ about something. But his feelings for Dumbledore were too mixed up; all that bitter resentment jumbled up with too much hurt and regret and disappointment.

He understood now, that to some extent Dumbledore had known all along. Dumbledore- the great manipulator- who had raised Harry up to be a good little martyr and kept him in the dark, driving him to desperation so great he would have done _anything_ to escape feeling another ounce of despair. And still he couldn't hate the man for it. Because when it came down to it, what other options had the headmaster had? There had been no good choices in the war, only some that were less bad than others, and if Dumbledore had decided that Harry's life was worth less than the rest of the wizarding world combined…well, he could hardly hold that against him. It was the truth after all, and Harry had made that same conclusion himself, even if it had been Dumbledore's manipulations that had led him to making it. In the end Harry knew Dumbledore had hated himself for his machinations more than Harry had ever been able to. And so he was left in this deadlock, unable to forgive, and yet unable to place the blame on Dumbledore's shoulders, both of them directing all their disgust and reproach inwardly.

It required more energy than he had to spare and Harry was just so _tired_ now. He had only just woken up, but he was bone-weary all ready. It was the kind of exhaustion that sleep could never cure. He couldn't stand to think about it anymore so he pushed it away and squeezed his eyes shut tighter and buried his head deeper into his pillow. And suddenly in addition to feeling angry and hurt, he was confused and anxious and mortified. Not to mention vastly, _vastly_ stupid. Because his pillow was not his pillow and he was sleeping on Edward Cullen. His body was curled toward the inert vampire; his fingers firmly twisted into the front of Edward's shirt and his face pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He abruptly stopped breathing. It belatedly occurred to him that that was probably not the best way to hide the fact that he was awake, but he figured his suddenly frantic heartbeat would be enough of a giveaway that it didn't really matter how unsubtle he was in the rest of his body language. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. What the hell was he supposed to do now? And why the _hell_ was Edward in bed with him?

His lack of breathing caught up with him and he choked a bit on his next inhalation. Edward did not move. He didn't know why neither of them were saying anything, as they were quite obviously both awake, but the pair continued to lie still and silent on the bed, and Harry continued to wordlessly stress out until he was so tense he was practically vibrating. Finally, _finally_, he felt the slightest shift of movement underneath him and for a crazy second he thought he felt Edward's hand hovering over his head, but it did not touch down.

"You had a bad dream." Edward spoke at last, his soft voice much closer to Harry's ear than he'd expected it to be. He flinched a bit in surprise and then nodded his acknowledgment, which was difficult with his face still pushed up against Edward's shoulder. A bad dream. He didn't remember any dreams from before the one about Dumbledore, but it explained the hand fisted in Edward's shirt at least. He was no stranger to nightmares. They had gotten so bad during the last year of the war that Ron and Hermione had taken to sleeping alongside him, all three of them piled up on his narrow four-poster bed like abandoned puppies in a cardboard box. Grabbing on to one or both of them as he struggled to ride out the painful and grotesque visions used to be the only way he made it through the night. He realized his fingers were still clenched tight, holding Edward to him and he struggled to release them, cramped and frozen into position as they were.

"You must be starving." Edward murmured as Harry tried to inconspicuously maneuver himself away. "I'll fix you some breakfast."

And then Edward was noiselessly slipping out of the room and Harry was alone and freaking out. This, whatever this was, could not happen. He couldn't be here, around these people. He couldn't eat Esme's cooking, or smile at Emmett's antics, or bask in Carlisle's gentle smile. He could _not _grab on to Edward while he slept. These people were not his family; his family was dead. His family was dead and he needed to leave. Now. He wrenched himself out of bed and shoved his feet into his ratty trainers, the only piece of clothing that had survived his jump and subsequent trip to the hospital. He knew he was probably only about a day or two away from Carlisle proclaiming him fit to walk on his own and driving him to La Push, but that was not soon enough for him.

He walked quickly down the stairs, limping only slightly and praying all the way that there would be no one waiting nearby to stop him. Luck was obviously not with him as he noticed Rosalie was lying on the couch flipping channels on the telly within plain view of the door. On second thought, perhaps that was lucky. His leg was feeling better, but he had no illusions that he could make it all the way to the reservation on foot. Not to mention that even if he could handle the walk, chances were Edward or one of the others would realize he was gone and catch up to him long before he made it past the border.

He looked around nervously and wondered if this was a good idea. Rosalie hadn't shown any particular interest in him, not sparing him more than a handful of words since his arrival, but maybe that would work in his favor. The others, for whatever reason, seemed inclined to worry about his health and he didn't think they'd be inclined to assist him in his getaway. Rosalie, for all her aloofness would probably be most likely to help, if for no other reason than to irk Edward, whom Harry had noticed she seemed to bicker quite a bit with.

"Hi." He said in a voice that he hoped was loud enough for her to hear, though not so loud as to catch anyone else's attention in another part of the house. She gave him a contemptuous sort of look and he anxiously fidgeted with his shirt cuffs while contemplating the best way to ask for help. Finally he just blurted out, "Um…think I could get a ride?"

She cocked one eyebrow at him imperiously and at first Harry thought she was going to refuse, but then with a flip of her hair she grabbed her keys and headed for the garage. With a small sigh of relief he fell into step behind her and they made their way to a flashy looking red convertible sandwiched in between two other expensive looking cars in the massive car park.

She did not ask for his destination, but she took off in the direction he thought the coast was in so he assumed she understood where he was going. He only vaguely recognized his surroundings from his drive to the ocean last week, but they were moving along quickly and he didn't think it would take long to get there. Contrary to the relief he thought he'd feel once they were on the road, Harry only felt himself getting more and more jittery the farther away they got from the Cullens. It was a completely irrational reaction, but it left him worrying his lips and bouncing his knee restlessly all the same. The silence in the car was grating on his nerves but he didn't want to test Rosalie's patience by flipping on the radio, and talking was definitely out of the question.

Almost as if she had heard his thoughts and wished to spite him, the beautiful vampire chose that moment to speak.

"Are you going to jump again?"

He couldn't tell from the look on her face whether she was actually concerned or just curious, but no matter her motivation he thought it best to hold back the sarcastic retort as he had no idea how far they still were from the border and he really didn't want to be dropped off right here.

"No," he answered honestly, "I don't reckon that one worked out too well for me last time and I don't fancy another week of needing to be carried to the bathroom just so I can take a piss."

"But you are going to try something." It was not a question.

He shrugged, but there was no reason to lie about it, so he replied, "Eventually, yeah. Most likely I will."

"You have no idea what you're throwing away." And now there was definitely annoyance in her voice.

"Huh. That's kind of a stupid perspective." Well, so much for holding back his rudeness. He really had tried, but he was still unjustifiably agitated about leaving the Cullen's and her self-righteousness was kind of pissing him off.

"Excuse me?"

"It's just I think I'd have a much better idea of exactly what it is I'm throwing away than you would, don't you think? What with my having lived it and all."

"Possibly," she said, though her imperious tone suggested she didn't really believe it, "but I have a bit more experience with dying than you do."

He chuckled dryly. "Not the kind I want to do. Look, no offense Rosalie, but you really don't know anything about me or my situation so you're not in any position to judge what it is I'm giving up." The car rolled to a stop in front of the 'Welcome to La Push' sign, and Harry opened the door to get out. "Thanks for the ride." He paused. "It was nice meeting you all. And tell Carlisle and Esme thanks for me. And um…tell Edward I'm sorry." He shut the door and started walking.

* * *

The forest was beautiful, all towering cedars and ferns and lush green moss. The weather was perfect in that gloomy way he loved; chilly but too mild for snow still, the washed out skies offering a constant drizzle that trickled down the back of his collar and in between his shoulder blades just perfectly so. He loved the rain, it felt…clean. He might have actually been smiling if he hadn't been wandering through the forest for close to an hour now. He was soaked and cold and his leg was aching something fierce. Not to mention he was still twitchy as hell. He couldn't shake that damn feeling that something was wrong. Like he should be walking back in the opposite direction. Back towards Forks.

Needless to say, he wasn't best pleased when he finally stumbled upon his bike only to find a boy kneeling beside it, digging through his rucksack. He looked about the same (physical) age as Harry, and had copper skin and long straight black hair that fell neatly to his shoulders in a manner that Harry's would never achieve no matter how long he grew it. His was almost half there already; it had been months since he bothered to cut it and it hung almost long enough to pull it back into a short ponytail, but was still shaggy and wild, curling over his ears and neck and constantly falling into his eyes.

He gave an irritated cough to announce his presence and waited for the teenager to look up. He had to revise his first estimate of the boy's age when his head snapped up and Harry saw his face. Judging by the hint of boyish roundness around his chin, he was closer to 15.

"Oh, hey. Sorry. I guess this is your bag I'm going through, huh?" The kid smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I wasn't gonna take anything, I was just trying to find out who the bike belonged too. It's been out here for a while." He grinned widely and handed Harry's rucksack to him. "I was sort of hoping no one was coming back for it. It's a great bike."

"Thanks." He said, shifting his bag over his shoulder.

The boy continued to chat even as Harry straddled the bike and settled in. "My friend's got a dirt bike I work on sometimes, but nothing as nice as this. It's a 250, right?"

"Yup."

"A Marauder?"

He smiled. Admittedly, he'd originally been attracted to the bike just for it's model name, but the Marauder had managed to worm it's way into his heart over the years.

He slid on his sunglasses and flipped up the kickstand.

"Well, I guess you probably wanna get out of here, huh? Can't blame you there. Maybe I'll see you around." Did people really talk this much? It was disturbing for a person to be this friendly. He was almost as bad as Alice.

He nodded his goodbye as he hit the starter and the engine roared to life…and promptly died. He tried six more times, but each time the engine shut off as soon as he stopped feeding it gas. He finally gave up with a curse and a sigh and turned to the overly-cheerful teenager who was still standing nearby.

"I don't suppose you'd know the name of a good mechanic."

"There's one back in Forks," he said, pointing back in the direction Harry had just come from, "he's way overpriced though. Cost you an arm and a leg."

"Bloody great. I don't suppose he'd be willing to come pick the bike up if I called him."

"Nah. They don't really do that around here. I could give it a lift for you though, I've got a truck."

"Really? Are you positive?"

"Sure, sure. It's no problem."

"Uh…do you need help loading it up?"

"Nah, truck's at home. I'll have to run and get it first." He seemed to think a moment before he added, "You know, you've probably just got some water in your spark plug; leaving it out in the rain like this isn't very good for the electrical system. If you open it up and give it a good cleaning, let it dry out for a day or two it'll probably run just fine. Save you a lot of money too."

"Thanks, but I don't really know anything about engines. I wouldn't even know what the spark plug looked like."

"Well, I can take a look at it if you like. I'm pretty good with this stuff. I completely rebuilt my truck's engine."

"Oh. Uh- wow, okay. That's really nice of you. I'm not really sure how well it'll be able to dry out here though."

"I can take it back to my garage. If you don't mind, I mean."

He forcefully tamped down the instinctive mistrust as it tried to rear up. This kid hardly looked like someone who was going to try and screw him over. Between the wide, easy grin and the spark of excitement in his eyes he didn't even look like he knew the meaning of the word 'guile.'

"I don't mind, but are you sure your parents won't?"

"Nah, I'm the only one who uses it really. I'm always out there working on stuff."

"All right. Well, great. How should we do this then?"

"Do you have a phone number I can get?"

"Uh…no. Not really."

"Okay, well, I'll give you mine, and my address too. It should probably be good to pick up in a day or two, but give me a call and I'll let you know after I take a look at it."

"Sounds good. Er…I just realized I don't know what your name is." He should probably also be asking how old he was, but he'd always hated it when people questioned his ability to do something based on his age. He'd been fighting dragons at 14, so who was he to say this kid couldn't fix his engine?

"I'm Jacob Black." The boy said, offering his hand to shake.

"Harry Potter." He replied, and then, "Oh!" as he felt the tingle of magic when he clasped Jacob's hand. It was hard to detect, tucked away deep and muted as it was, but it was quite definite once he knew what he was looking for. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. So Jacob was one of the La Push 'werewolves' that the Cullens had seemed so wary of.

He'd had both good and bad experiences with werewolves and animagi alike, and it was their human sides, not their animal components, that caused him trouble more often than not. As a human, Jacob seemed more like an overgrown puppy than an angry wolf, so Harry didn't really see himself having any problems here.

"Sorry," Jacob apologized, pulling his hand away, "did I shock you?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Just took me by surprise. You must be one of the wolves I've heard mentioned."

The other boy gave a startled laugh. "The what? What are you talking about?"

Whoops. He'd spoken without thinking. It hadn't even occurred to him that the shapeshifter might not know what he was talking about. Maybe he was wrong? But no, the magic was most certainly there. Maybe he just hadn't changed yet. He couldn't imagine why he wouldn't know about it though; the Cullen's had said it was some kind of hereditary thing, so wouldn't his parents have told him about it? Of course, so was wizardry, and Harry had managed to go 11 years before finding out about that. Well, whatever it was, he needed to think of an explanation. Fast.

"What are _you_ talking about?" Or stalling for time worked too.

"Wait, what?" Jacob's brow furrowed. "I'm confused. What did you say before?"

"Um…what did _you_ say?" Quick, what rhymed with wolves?

"I said I was sorry for shocking you." All right, Jacob was giving him decidedly weird looks now.

"And I said…something about…mulves?" Oh yeah. That was brilliant.

"O…kay. You're kind of a weird guy, Harry." He said it with such a big and accepting grin on his face that Harry couldn't even begin to get offended by it.

"Trust me, you don't know the half of it."

* * *

Harry was limping rather heavily by the time he made it back to the road, and he still had quite a few miles to go before he got to...well, he wasn't sure where he was trying to get to. He had no form of transportation right now unless he wanted to try apparating, and he really didn't think that was a good idea until he was fully healed. He might feel like he wanted to chop his injured leg off at the moment, but he was pretty sure he'd actually be quite pissed off if he left it behind. Besides, the Marauder was still in La Push and he didn't want to go too far away from it. It was one of his few possessions he really cared about. Actually, it was one of his few possessions, period. He'd never been able to bring himself to destroy the things from his old life, but he hadn't been able to keep them with him either. The few things that had had meaning to him- his invisibility cloak, his Firebolt, his photo album- had all been stashed a couple years back in a safe deposit box in a bank in Zurich, the same one he'd transferred all his funds to before departing the wizarding world. He hadn't wanted anyone tracking him down and the Swiss gnomes were much more circumspect than goblins.

Without his bike or the option of apparating, that pretty much left him with walking, which limited him to Forks, and if he was going to be stuck in Forks that pretty much left him with the Cullens. He could try to find a motel to crash in of course, or even just a bar to pass out in, but he didn't think it would be long before Edward or one of the others would catch up to him and bring him back to the big white house.

It was getting more and more difficult staying with the Cullens. He didn't think he'd had more than a second to himself since he'd gotten there. He didn't know if they were doing that on purpose or if it was just that there were so many of them that it seemed like at least one of them was always around. He suspected it was the former though. They all seemed to be afraid that if they left him alone for more than a moment he would disappear on them. Which, he mentally acknowledged, was obviously not unreasonable considering that he had done exactly that.

What he couldn't figure out was _why_ they cared. He'd known them barely a week, and his demeanor did not exactly invite personal relationships. He was moody and caustic and melancholy and slightly crazy, not to mention that he accidentally _blew things up_. Why on earth did these people care about him? Worse yet, why was he starting to care about them? And that there was the real reason it was getting so hard to stay with the Cullens- he liked them. When they weren't driving him up the wall with their constant presence, he genuinely enjoyed their company. He recognized that feeling he got every time he saw Jasper and Emmett roughhousing, or Esme mothering Edward, or Carlisle greeting his children when he came home from work. It was the same feeling he used to get whenever he would watch the Weasleys interact- that peculiar combination of happy and sad- that warm, soft sort of feeling in his chest, mixed with a bone-deep ache of longing.

He was just crossing the border between the reservation and Forks- and still debating over where he was going to go- when he was unexpectedly lifted off the ground and wrapped in a pair of solid steel bands. He felt his magic quickly and uncontrollably expanding, preparing to lash out at the unseen threat when he suddenly realized he recognized the cold, muscular arms he was incased in.

"Edward?" He asked incredulously, all the while trying to calm his magic's defense mechanisms. The vampire didn't respond, just set Harry down in the front seat of his Volvo and buckled him in before moving around the car to climb in the driver's side. He shifted the car into gear and took off at an extreme speed as Harry continued to gape at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He finally managed to ask, a little less politely than he'd intended.

"I could ask you the same thing. I left you in bed, after all, waiting for your breakfast." His voice was quiet and velvety as usual and Harry thought he felt a slight blush rising to his cheeks at the implications of Edward's statement.

"I wasn't hungry." He said lamely, and then mentally beat himself over the head. Yeah, like that explained why he freaked out and ran away after waking up wrapped around a ridiculously good-looking vampire. He rolled his eyes at himself. Nice one, Potter.

He noticed Edward pressing his lips together then, looking as though he were stifling a laugh for some reason, and Harry felt himself hard pressed not to glower at said ridiculously good-looking vampire.

"You never answered my question." Harry barked. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might need a ride with your motorcycle out of commission." Edward's lips were still quirked slightly, but there was a hard edge to his voice, and Harry could not identify the emotion behind it.

"How did you-"

"Alice."

"Right." He huffed. "Bloody seers. She couldn't have checked a bit earlier, let me know I wasn't going to be able to start it?"

"I agree. It's a shame she didn't notice anything prior to your leaving. I could have stopped you before you had to go and do further injury to your leg like that." He turned to Harry, face severe and reprimanding. "Of course, that also could have been avoided if you weren't so completely unreasonable."

"I wasn't being _unreasonable_, my leg feels much better now."

Edward continued speaking as though he hadn't heard Harry. "Unfortunately Alice's thoughts were busy elsewhere and she didn't become aware of your plans until Rosalie dropped you off. Don't worry though," he said with renewed cheer in his voice, "she's promised to keep a much better eye on you from now on."

Harry scowled at him, but if anything Edward's grin just got wider.

"What?" He finally snapped, after Edward continued to smirk at him, not even bothering to pretend to watch the road.

The attractive vampire quirked one eyebrow. "Mulves, Harry?"

"Shut up." He muttered, and slumped further into his seat, drawing his shoulders up to hide his embarrassed blush.

With the speed Edward was driving at, it was less than five minutes later that they were pulling back up to the big white house. "You found him!" Alice squealed, bounding out to meet them as they exited Edward's car.

"Right where you said he'd be." Edward smirked.

"I'm so sorry Edward." She said, clearly feeling ashamed of herself.

"Don't worry about it. We don't expect you to watch everything all the time, Alice. Give yourself a break."

"Thanks." She smiled, the guilt erased from her face. "Still, I'll keep a closer eye now. He's a wily thing, isn't he?" She ruffled Harry's hair affectionately, ignoring the daggers he was glaring at her.

"I am standing right here you know." Harry groused.

"You're right." Edward frowned, and then scooped Harry up so that he was no longer standing. "My apologies."

"Cute." He said, looking down to hide a smile because- _damn it_- he really _was_. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Now stop talking about me like I'm a wayward puppy and _put me down_."

"Certainly." Edward agreed, before carrying him up two flights of stairs and over to his bed prior to complying. He took ridiculous care in setting him down, handling him like he was a china doll, and hadn't survived a fifty-meter drop into rocky waters only a week before.

"Why do you care anyway?" He snapped, his frustration from earlier rising back to the surface and mixing with his irritation at being handled so delicately.

"What?"

"Why do you care? Having Alice monitor my futures, picking me up at the border…I don't get it."

Edward looked utterly lost for words. Alice, presumably noticing the same thing, answered for him. "We like you Harry. And we're worried about you. We want to make sure you're safe."

Harry's heart sank and at the same time a traitorous little part of him gave a thrill at the words. It was not a good idea for them to like him.

"But why? I mean, what does it matter to you? You barely even know me and in few days my bike will be fixed and my leg will be healed and I'll be on my way."

"You don't have to be." Edward forced the words out all at once, almost too fast for Harry's ears to pick up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't have to be on your way. You could stay here."

Harry froze. There was no way Edward had just said that. He must have misheard or something. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Well…not exactly, because he hadn't actually imagined for a second that this was a possible outcome. It had never been an issue before.

In over six years of travels he had of course come across a few people whom he hadn't been able to scare off with his attitude or mood swings; mostly old women who had wanted to take him home and fatten him up, or younger women who wanted to take him home and shag him, even the occasional child looking at him with big eyes and sweet smiles, wanting nothing more than a push on the swings. But he had never had to face this kind of predicament before. Always there had been something that kept any of the people he met from trying to keep him there. There was something in the way he carried himself, the energy he gave off that had always warned them quite clearly from trying to do so.

So was the problem now in his hosts' lack of ability to sense that? Or was it that the vibe he was giving off had changed? There was a part of him he could no longer deny- albeit a very strange and conflicted part of him- that wanted to stay. He didn't know what to do.

"I have to change!" He practically shouted the words and then cringed at his own awkwardness.

"What?" Both Edward and Alice looked baffled this time.

"My…my clothes are wet. I need to change them."

"Harry," Edward started to say, and was promptly interrupted by Alice who apparently recognized his complete lack of wanting to talk about Edward's proposition for what it was.

"We'll just wait outside while you get dressed."

"Thanks."

He upended his damp rucksack onto the bed and rooted around for the driest pair of denims and shirt he could find. It only took him a minute to get dressed but he barely had his shirt over his head before Alice barged back in with Edward in tow.

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry. Weren't you done? It sounded like you were done."

He rolled his eyes. He wasn't actually sure he'd ever heard an apology that sounded less contrite. "You guys don't have a very high expectation of privacy around here, do you?"

"Nope. Between Jasper and Edward and me, and the super-hearing, you sort of get used to everybody being in your business. And being in everybody else's business. It's fun!"

Before he had the chance to comment or ask about how Edward contributed to the lack of privacy, she gave a horrified gasp and pointed a dramatic finger towards the bed.

"What on earth is _that_?"

"Um…a bed? I realize you don't sleep and all, but surely you and Jasper are aware of their other uses."

She broke from her theatrical outrage for a moment to shoot a leer at him- a decidedly strange look on her usually angelic face.

"I meant on top of the bed. Please tell me this isn't your whole wardrobe." She said as she started rooting through his clothes.

"Should there be more?"

She gave a cry of wordless outrage. "More than six black shirts and two pairs of ratty jeans? Yes!"

"Seven shirts and three pairs of jeans. You forgot to count the ones I'm wearing now."

She threw a disdainful look at his long-sleeved tee and holey denims. "These shirts look like they came in a three pack."

From her wrinkled nose he gathered that wasn't a good thing and wisely decided not to confirm her theory on his shirt's origins.

"That's it. I'm taking you shopping. This is just wrong! You don't even have anything that isn't black!"

"Shopping?"

She nodded decisively. "We need to get a little color in your wardrobe. I bet you look stunning in green."

"Shopping." He echoed again.

Shopping didn't tend to work out too well for him. It was ridiculous, he knew, but it seemed he couldn't even escape thoughts of his past life in this one simple thing. Even his _attire_ was affected by his psychosis. Everything reminded him of something he didn't want to be reminded of. Orange took him back to Ron's old bedroom, plastered in Chudley Cannons posters from floor to ceiling. Purple brought memories of Dumbledore's ostentatious robes. Yellow was the Hufflepuff jersey Cedric was wearing the last time Harry had seen him, barely visible beneath the blood and dirt. Red was Gryffindor, and the Hogwarts steam engine, and the blood running from the gaping hole in Hermione's ruined chest as she choked on her last breath. Green…green was everything. Green was Slytherin. Green was his mother's eyes, and the Christmas jumpers Mrs. Weasley used to knit for him, and the color of the ink on his first Hogwarts letter. Green was the killing curse. The last time he had gone shopping he had been so inundated with memories every time he tried to pick up a shirt, that he froze up and finally just grabbed whatever he could find in black and ran out the door.

"Um…thanks, but I don't think so. I'm good with what I have."

Alice's face fell. "But…but they're horrible! And you're so cute!" She turned her large, pleading eyes on him. "Please?"

Fearing the persuasive powers of Alice, he turned his own beseeching eyes towards Edward. He doubted they could be anywhere near as potent as the pixie-like vampire's, but it didn't take more than a second before Edward was clearing Alice out of the room and shutting the door firmly behind her, saving Harry from accidentally agreeing to play dress-up doll for the tiny fashionista.

"Thanks."

Edward snickered as he settled himself on the bed next to Harry. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone look quite so terrified at the prospect of shopping."

"Yeah, well…it's not really my thing."

The other boy's eyes turned serious then, and Harry realized he had been rescued from one conversation he didn't want to have, only to be cornered back into the other one he didn't want to have.

"I meant what I said before, Harry. I would like for you to stay."

He sighed heavily. "I can't stay here Edward. Look, I don't know if you've noticed at all, but I'm completely screwed up. I don't know how to function on a normal, civilized level anymore. I'm barely even capable of interacting with other people!"

"I don't care about that."

"You should. I don't belong around people, it just…it hurts them. And the more they care about me the more I manage to hurt them." It was the truth. Even after the war was over and the people he loved stopped dying for his cause, he still hurt them. Because he couldn't heal and they couldn't help him. Watching him suffer caused them too much pain and in the end he'd left because of it. He had enough guilt piled on his shoulders without having to feel bad about feeling bad. That was just stupid and it made his head hurt to think about.

"There's something wrong with me Edward. And whatever it is, it's catching. So for both our sakes, I'm going to say no thank you and move on as soon as I can."

"Let me just make sure that I have this straight. You can't stay here because your presence might somehow taint my family. My _vampire_ family."

"I suspect that's supposed to be sarcasm, but it doesn't really work when what you say is completely true."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that. There's nothing wrong with you, Harry. We want you to stay here. _I_ want you to stay." He leaned towards Harry, eyes intense and focused.

"You…?" He started to speak but lost his train of thought before he could say anything of worth.

"I want you to stay." He repeated. Edward leaned closer still, which shouldn't have been possible, because really, how close could he get? His eyes flickered downwards, to Harry's…chin?…and then back to connect with Harry's own. One hand came up to cup his face and a thumb gently traced his lower lip. Oh. Right. Probably not Harry's chin he was looking at then.

Harry was vaguely aware of his uneven breaths and the fact that he should be pulling away and then Edward's sweet breath ghosted over his face and he felt his eyes fluttering shut in spite of himself. Edward moved slowly, so impossibly slow, as if to give Harry every opportunity to back away- and if he'd been capable of any kind of rational thought he would have- but he was frozen, frozen, Edward's lips were frozen and they were pressing against Harry's, so so softly and he was still frozen, he couldn't move, couldn't back away. He didn't want to back away. Why didn't he want to back away?

He kissed back.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: So, some new voices for me this time. Personally, I quite liked my Dumbledore. I'm really unsure of my Jake though. What do you think? About Jake and Alice's visions- Jake hasn't yet become a wolf and well, it was never really specified in the books whether or not Alice could see them before they first made the shift, so I'm going with the idea that, yes, she can. Also, I know even less about engines than Harry, so I don't really know if my little scenario there is at all correct, that's just what I found using Yahoo! Answers. Meh, close enough, right? As always, you're wonderful with the reviews and I can't thank you enough.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer_: Still not mine. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes.

_Author's Note_: Yeah…really sorry about the massive lateness of this chapter, but Supernatural ATE MY BRAIN**.** So don't be mad at me, be mad at Dean Winchester and his pretty pretty eyes. (But really, who can stay mad at that?) That is, of course, assuming anyone is actually still reading this story.

* * *

Chapter Eight

It was quite possibly the warmest thing he'd ever felt. Harry's lips were soft and yielding, the bottom one puffy and slightly raw from being chewed on all morning. He felt a jolt shoot down his spine as for one glorious second he thought he felt Harry press them back against his own before he brought his other hand to cradle Harry's face and- as if shocked by a live wire- Harry jerked back.

His cheeks were stained an attractive pink and his mouth hung slightly open as he gaped at Edward and stuttered, "I…ah. Huh?"

Edward didn't know if he had ever felt so self-conscious, so unsure of himself in his life. Had he done it wrong? It had felt right to him- heck, it had felt _perfect_ to him- up until the moment Harry had pulled away, but it wasn't like he had much first-hand experience in this area. Harry still seemed incapable of speech outside of the occasional vowel sound that squeaked past his lips, so he had to assume he had done something wrong. Or maybe it was the fact that he had kissed him at all. Perhaps Harry hadn't wanted him to? It had _seemed_ like he had, Edward had given him plenty of time to pull away after all, but maybe Harry had just been frozen in terror. He knew Harry thought he was attractive, he'd heard him say it not more than an hour ago. Well, he'd heard him think it at least. Of course, being attracted to someone wasn't the same thing as liking them, but he'd thought… Oh God, what _had_ he been thinking, kissing Harry like that without permission?

"I'm sorry, that was very presumptuous of me," he hastened to apologize.

Harry's eyes were wide as he continued to gape at Edward. "What...why did you do that?"

Edward frowned. He wondered if maybe Harry's declaration of being screwed up was perhaps a little more right than he'd originally thought. After everything that had happened in the past week, heck after everything that had happened in the past _day_- waking up in Edward's arms, Edward fetching him at the border, Edward asking him to stay- how could Harry not understand how Edward felt about him?

"I'm not sure how much more plainly I could tell you that I like you, Harry."

Harry looked at him even more incredulously than before. "Are you _very_ stoned? Why on earth would you like me? I'm a moody bastard."

"I had noticed that, yes," he conceded, chuckling a bit.

"I'm serious! Honestly, I don't have baggage Edward, I have _cargo holds_. I'm completely off my nut! Not to mention you are so far out of my league it's ridiculous. I mean... look at you!"

Edward felt his frustration rise at that. All right, yes, it was clear that Harry had more than a few issues to deal with, but the idea of Edward being out of his league was so absurd it wasn't even funny. It had been obvious that Harry had a somewhat…distorted view of himself, but it still came as a blow to hear him speak of it so candidly. How could he possibly think that way?

Harry had an ethereal sort of beauty. Where Edward was the marble perfection of a statue of a Greek god, Harry was a stained glass window of a fallen angel or some strange fae; all sharp angles and intense colors. His appearance was… _striking_, for lack of a better term. He didn't intend the word in the way that people often used it to politely call someone bizarre looking, though from the way Harry spoke of himself he got the feeling that was indeed what the human thought himself to be. True, his looks were…unusual. He was a study of contrasts: sharp, almost gaunt cheekbones in between wide, round eyes and the soft curve of his mouth, chaotic ebony hair against porcelain cheeks, almost too green eyes over pale pink lips, livid angular scars on otherwise unblemished skin. It was not a comforting, everyday kind of attractiveness, nor the Cullen's classic beauty. His appearance was somewhat overwhelming and Edward sometimes felt a little off kilter upon first glimpse.

More than just his exterior though, there was a _feeling_ that permeated Harry, something high and stark and somehow very tragic. It made Edward want to hold him close, tight enough to bruise his pale skin. It made him want to grip his too angular face in his hands and breathe in his sadness, take it into himself and hold it there, let it ache in his chest. It made him want to write songs to mimic that terrible, beautiful sorrow. He sounded ridiculous he knew- even in his own head- like a bad teenaged poet, but that was okay. He defied anyone to look at the face of this beautiful broken boy and _not_ want to start spouting off sonnets.

"I don't think you see yourself very clearly at all," he said, shaking himself from thoughts of Byron and backlit angels.

"Yes, well I think you're suffering from a mild case of schizophrenia. We're all entitled to our opinions."

Edward sighed, but didn't try to continue arguing his point. First he needed to get Harry to stay, then he could take the time to work on Harry's self-esteem.

"Is that why you won't stay? Because you think I'm crazy?"

"No, I won't stay because I think _I'm_ crazy."

He felt his irritation rising at the circular exchange. How was he supposed to get anywhere with Harry when the boy wouldn't even have a straight conversation with him?

"You're not making any sense, Harry."

The wizard shook his head slowly in mock solemnity. "Crazy people rarely do."

Edward held back a snort of amusement. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage Harry's penchant for avoidance.

"Harry. Stay."

"And do what?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you want. We start school on Monday…you could come with us."

"School. You go to _school_? Like school as in high school?"

"Yes."

"Why the hell would you go to high school?"

That was a question he'd asked himself more than once. He gave Harry the standard playbook answer he used to remind himself that this was something he had to do. "The younger we pretend to be when we start in a new area, the longer we can stay there. And when we're pretending to be 15 or 16 years old, people rather expect that we will attend school."

"And that's important to you. Being able to stay in one place."

"It seems a bit strange for vampires, I'm sure. Our kind tends to be more nomadic. Our family is a bit more…human than normal vampires though. Carlisle thinks abstaining from human blood makes us more civil." Edward studied the furrow of Harry's brow and the tilt of his lips as he seemed to think on that. "Don't you ever want to settle down? Have a home?"

"I had a home," Harry shot back without a moment's hesitation. "You know what they say about going back again."

"There's no reason why you can't find a new one."

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, abruptly changing the subject. "Going to high school, I mean."

"No…not really. Not at all, actually. It's extremely tedious."

"And yet you still go."

He shrugged. "It gives us something to do. Vampires have quite a bit of time on their hands you know. Might as well fill some of the hours with something tedious." He smiled then. "So do you want to go?"

Harry snorted. "Well gee, after that glowing review, how could I not? Sign me up."

Edward deliberately ignored the obvious sarcasm and affected a cheerful tone. "Great. I'll have Esme register you first thing on Monday."

"Wait, what? Are you serious? I'm not going to high school, Edward. I'm suicidal, not masochistic."

Edward couldn't decide whether to laugh or cringe at that. He suspected the former would be the much healthier option for him in the long run though. Based on their conversations thus far, the object of his affections seemed to have a rather blunt and morbid sense of humor. If he reacted negatively to Harry's every mention of death or despair he would likely drive himself insane before the month was out.

"Anyway," the young wizard continued, "even if I did for some completely bizarre reason actually _want_ to subject myself to that, I wouldn't be able to. I'm 19, remember? Too old for high school."

He scoffed. "Please, Harry. We both know you're not 19."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a good liar, but I've been doing it a lot longer than you."

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was pure frustration (mixed with a healthy dash of idiocy) that caused him to speak his next words without thinking of the possible ramifications. In his defense though, Harry was difficult enough to try the patience of a saint.

"You said you got this scar six years ago," he said, gripping Harry's hand and running his thumb over the shiny white scar on his palm.

"I did."

"I believe you. It's just shocking how you haven't aged at all in six years is all."

The slack-jawed look of shock on Harry's face might have been funny if it wasn't about to proceed what was sure to be a disastrous revelation.

"What are you-? How could you possibly-?" Harry sputtered and then abruptly stopped, eyes narrowing again in threatening suspicion as he made the leap of logic Edward was hoping he wouldn't make. "What's your gift?"

He didn't bother pretending not to understand what Harry was talking about. "Harry…"

"Answer the question, Edward. Jasper said you have a gift, like he and Alice do. What is it?"

"I…hear people's thoughts," he finally said reluctantly.

"You've been reading my mind?" Harry's voice was soft, steady, but his eyes blazed with an anger Edward hadn't seen in him before.

"No! Not really. I mean, not all the time. You're different. You've got a…a shield or something. I can only hear you sometimes, usually when you're upset. Like now." He winced at the expletives Harry was mentally throwing at him.

"Oh, that's great. That's really lovely. So it's only when I'm at my worst that I have someone poking around in my head. Brilliant."

'At my worst' might have been what Harry lips were saying, but his mind was still open and screaming words like 'vulnerable' and 'pathetic.'

"You're not weak, Harry."

"Stop that," he snapped. "Can't you just…I don't know, turn it off?"

"It doesn't really work that way. I can usually tune people out pretty well, but you're a bit…well, its sort of like you're shouting at me. It's very hard to ignore."

"Right. All right, and so you know….what? What do you know?"

"I'm not sure. Not much. You had a flashback yesterday when you cut your hand, and I saw…well, you haven't aged in six years. Maybe more. You fought in a battle of some kind. You seem to think you can't die. That's about it."

There were of course, a few other things Edward had picked up on. Previous suicide attempts, his relationship to the redheaded family…and had Harry really flayed a man alive? He felt it was in his best interest to keep those bits to himself though. He had a feeling Harry wouldn't take too kindly to being reminded of those aspects of his past.

"Right, that's…right. I have to go…be somewhere else now."

"Harry, wait. Please."

"I'm not leaving, Edward. I just need to be alone." And with that said he turned his back and left the room.

* * *

Edward entered the living room cautiously, both hoping to find Harry there, and afraid of the reaction he might get from the upset human. His apprehension was completely unnecessary though, as Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Rosalie and Emmett were on the couch in front of the TV, playing Mario Kart and elbowing each other in the sides as they jockeyed for position within the game. Rosalie resolutely ignored him as he sat down in a nearby chair, but Emmett looked up as his car crashed into a wall and Rose smoked him over the finish line.

"Hey kid. You look rough." _Fight that bad?_

He sighed in resignation. It didn't surprise him that they would all know about the argument he'd had with Harry, he was just hoping he might have more than an hour before they found out.

"How did you know?"

"Alice mentioned."

"She could have warned me," he griped. "A little preparation would have been nice."

_Actually, I think she was listening outside the door._

Figures. Harry really was right about the expectation of privacy in this house. Neither Alice nor Jasper were anywhere in sight and he idly wondered if Alice was hiding just to escape his wrath. She certainly wouldn't be the only person in the house avoiding him. Carlisle he knew to be at work and Esme he could hear once again at work in the kitchen, but he couldn't hear or smell Harry anywhere nearby. Though in all fairness, between the sound effects of the video game and the smells of Esme's cooking he didn't think that was any cause for worry. Despite Harry having run off just a few hours previous, he believed him when he said he wasn't leaving again today.

He felt his ire rising up as he thought of just how Harry had left this morning, and leveled a glare at Rosalie, who was still refusing to look in his direction. He had felt betrayed when he'd found out that Rose had helped Harry in getting away. He knew she wasn't overly fond of humans, and it was true he and she didn't always get along, but she was his sister and he'd thought she understood what Harry meant to him. The thought that she could know and still do that to him had hurt deeply. Now though, he just felt angry. As he continued to glower at Rosalie, she determinedly did her best to not think about him or Harry and Emmett did his best to ignore the fact that his brother and his wife were currently staring daggers at each other.

Rosalie broke first. For one second she slipped and he could read all her underlying motivation. And that…well that confused him even more. Because it almost seemed like she _liked_ Harry. That wasn't to say she actually _actively_ liked him of course. Mostly she found him annoying and senseless and condescending (and Edward had to laugh at the thought of Rosalie of all people finding someone to be condescending), but she was interested in him, and she didn't want him to die and that was more care than she'd ever spared for anyone outside their family.

Edward couldn't help it, he gaped at her. It didn't make an ounce of sense. If Rosalie cared about Harry, why would she take him away from here?

"Shut up," she snapped, swinging her head back to the TV.

"I didn't say a word."

_Just because I don't want him to off himself doesn't mean I like him. _The thought was purposeful and obviously directed at him. He didn't respond except to cock one eyebrow at her.

_I **don't**__ like him. _

"Okay."

"His hair is awful," she spat and promptly stormed out of the room.

"Um…what?" Emmett asked.

Edward rolled his eyes and took her seat at the abandoned video game controller. "Don't look at me. I have no idea."

"Fine," Emmett said as he started a new game. "No cheating."

* * *

Edward tried not to be jealous that 'alone' for Harry apparently meant spending all day hanging out with Jasper in his study, he really did. After all, it wasn't as though he really had anything to be jealous of. He knew Jasper was completely devoted to Alice, and the empath had assured him that Harry didn't seem to have any romantic feelings for Jasper. He just liked spending time with him. A good deal of the time they didn't even talk; just sat quietly and separately, Harry watching TV and Jasper reading, or both of them listening to Alice chatter on. Jasper said Harry liked to be in proximity, which made sense he supposed. Jasper, even when he wasn't directly manipulating emotions, tended to exude a subtle feeling of calm. If anything, Edward should feel grateful that the empath could help Harry by making him feel a little less insane.

It was just that he wished that Harry felt that comfortable with him. And okay, perhaps it bothered him the way Harry seemed to gravitate to the blond. He was getting closer to everyone in the family, but it was Jasper's company he sought out the most, and that irritated Edward to no end. Not that Edward had a problem with Jasper, but well, if Harry had to be drawn to anyone other than Edward, couldn't it have been one of the girls?

Jasper claimed that Harry was actually quite enamored of Edward; that it was actually _because_ of that that their relationship was so difficult. Harry shied away from any real closeness to people. His bonds to the rest of the family lacked the intensity that seemed to snap between Edward and Harry every time they were in close quarters. They were sneaking up on him more slowly, so casually he didn't realize it was happening. His connection with Edward was harder to ignore, harder to deny. And every time he was confronted with it, he went running scared.

Well, that was what Jasper seemed to think, anyway. Edward wasn't entirely convinced that Harry wasn't just running away because he knew what a monster Edward was. He liked Jasper's version better though. And it would explain why for every one step forward in his relationship with Edward, Harry seemed to take two large and panicked steps back.

He did his best to give the human space over the next day and a half, but it was hardly his fault if Harry thought the best way to avoid him was to hide out in Edward's own room. That was where he found him early Saturday afternoon, lying spread eagle on his back on the plush carpeting, eyes half closed, listening to the pounding melody of a Joy Division song. His hair was spread out around him like a messy black halo and he was surrounded on both sides by discarded records and CDs. Come to think of it, quite a few of his recent fantasies had started out this way.

Despite his unfocused eyes and Edward's near silent entrance, the young wizard seemed to know the second Edward came into the room.

"The rain killed my iPod," he offered in unprompted explanation. "I needed something to listen to…the silence makes my thoughts too easy to hear." He shot Edward a sardonic grin. "I'm sure you can understand why that's a bad thing."

Not only could he understand it, it was something he could identify with. He'd been using music to the same ends for years now. He sat down on the floor as close to Harry as he dared and idly flipped though the nearby scattered CDs. "Have you listened to this one yet?" he asked, picking up his favorite Muse album. "It's very good."

Harry shook his head and gestured to a stack of CDs on his right. "Not yet. I've been working my way through the 80's in Britain. Gotta get back to my roots, you know?" He rolled his eyes as he said the last part and shot Edward a significant look.

Was that supposed to be a hint? It sounded like Harry was confirming Edward's accusation of Harry being older than he claimed. Perhaps he…no. He wasn't going to think about that now. Harry was being almost friendly. He wasn't going to mess things up again by bringing up mind reading or war or questions of immortality.

"Well, that's better than the 70's at any rate. Let's see what you have here." He leaned over Harry, lingering a bit longer than was strictly necessary to retrieve the pile of albums. "The Smiths, The Cure, New Order, Depeche Mode… Oh, very cheerful, Harry. These are sure to pick your mood right up."

Surprisingly though, it seemed like they _had_ lifted Harry's mood, if his soft, genuine sounding laughter was any indicator. He was more relaxed than Edward had ever seen him outside of Jasper's direct influence. He seemed sleepily content, languorous and good-humored.

"I suppose you'd like me to listen to something all bubblegum and sunshine and puppies? We could dance around to Britney Spears if that would make you feel better."

He made a face at that. "I can promise you that you will never find any of that in my room."

Harry laughed again. Edward had a feeling he could very easily become addicted to that sound. "Yeah, I kind of figured. You have an amazing collection really. Very extensive."

"Yes, well I have had quite a bit of time to accumulate it."

"Point."

"If you're really set on your current listening theme, I am fairly certain your people have produced at least one or two albums that are slightly more upbeat," he said, shuffling through a few records before landing on a Clash album to hand to Harry.

"My people?" Harry asked incredulously, nearly choking on a short burst of laughter. "I sincerely hope you mean the British and not wizards, because wizards have seriously god-awful taste in music." He shook his head at Edward's answering chuckle. "I'm not kidding, Edward. I'm talking bad here. Like musical saws and toad-choir bad."

Edward threw his head back and laughed in earnest then. "Okay. You are definitely going to have to explain the toad-choir to me."

Harry's eyes were bright and his face expressive as he wove tales of Death Day parties and school songs sung simultaneously to a hundred different melodies, and though he never mentioned any friends or family or anything personal at all really, Edward started to feel like he had been let inside just a little as Harry brought his former world to life.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening lying on the floor together, working their way through various decades and genres of music, with Hedwig periodically swooping in and out of the large open windows. They traded playful banter back and forth until they were interrupted by the sound of Harry's stomach growling for the eighth time in less than thirty minutes (though he insisted he wasn't hungry and for the last time Edward, no, he didn't want to go downstairs and get something to eat). This was followed shortly thereafter by the sound of something wetly pummeling Edward's bedroom door. Harry's eyes widened in something akin to horror before squeezing shut as he brought his hands up to cover his face, mumbling various obscenities and apologies into his palm.

Confused, Edward opened his door to find what looked like all the fixings for a sandwich- bread, deli meat, lettuce, tomato- lying limply outside the entrance to his room. A slice of swiss cheese clung stubbornly to his door before peeling off to fall to the floor next to its companions. He turned around and cocked one eyebrow at the furiously blushing wizard until he finally stopped cursing under his breath and grudgingly admitted, "I might be a _little_ hungry after all."

It took him another few minutes to convince Harry (who seemed genuinely confused as to why he couldn't just eat the food he had accidentally summoned) to come downstairs and let Esme feed him properly. There was a plate of steaming food already waiting for him on the table, and the rest of the family joined them in the dining room for the meal, laughing and teasing Harry about his great secret love affair with the sandwich. Harry took the ribbing well and scarfed down three helpings of dinner and Esme beamed and Carlisle smiled at Edward like he couldn't be happier for him. It was the best day Edward could remember having in years, heck, in _decades_. He felt happy and whole and he'd made more progress with Harry in that afternoon than he had all week. Now he just had to wait for the giant leap back.

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: Yay, shmoop! For those of you displeased with the shmoop, rest easy. The next chapter will have more angst and more Cullens. To clear up any possible confusion, I give you a brief timeline. Harry tried to kill himself Thursday afternoon, September 2nd, 2004. Carlisle took him home in the early hours of Friday morning, i.e. the middle of the night, and Harry woke up later that evening at the Cullen's. This chapter takes place the following Friday, Sept. 10th, and Saturday, Sept.11th. When I was in school, the year usually started near the beginning of September. I might be pushing it a bit with the 13th, but whatever, close enough. The Twilight books began around mid-January, 2005. Hope that helps! For anyone who's curious, Harry was listening to the song 'Atmosphere' when Edward walked in. You should look it up on youtube if you don't already know it. As always, reviews are love, and you're all welcome to pm me and poke me with a stick if I take a ridiculously long time to post again.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer_: Still not mine. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes. Excessive use of italics, ellipses, and angsty internal monologue.

_Author's Note_: Wow. So, it's been a while, huh? I'm really sorry about the long delay, but between getting some bad news in the family, and some work issues I just didn't have the time to get on the computer much. So, thank you to all the reviewers that I didn't respond to, and all the pokes, which, even if they didn't motivate me to make room in my schedule for writing, reminded me that people were still reading. I really hope that you'll still be reading after this one, cause I sort of hate it. I figure I owe you something though, so I'm posting it anyway. If you like to listen while you read, soundtrack to start this chapter off is 'Orange Sky' by Alexi Murdoch.

* * *

Chapter Nine

"_No, Harry! Don't you dare even think about it!" Hermione said, her eyes narrowed dangerously._

"_Hermione-"_

"_NO! Absolutely not!" Her voice cracked a bit on the last word and it occurred to Harry that the look on her face was not one of disapproval, but of fear and desperation._

_He wanted to comfort her, wanted to take the panic out of her eyes. He had no comfort to give though and his voice came out flat as he asked, "And if there's no other way?"_

"_There **is** another way, I just have to find it. I just- ARH! I just need more books! I'll find it Harry." Her eyes were wild and she pulled urgently at her bushy hair, making her look a bit crazed._

"_There's nothing to find Hermione. This is the way. The only way. Deep down inside, you know that too."_

"_Then someone else can do it," she insisted. "Not you, Harry. It doesn't have to be you."_

"_No one else can do it," he said dispassionately._

"_No one else **will**, you mean! But you- you can't wait, can you? You want this! Don't lie to me Harry Potter, I can see it in your eyes." She was hysterical now, hands waving violently through the air and angry tears running down her face. He felt guilty for doing this to her, but he didn't know how to fix it. This was the only way he knew that could fix anything. It would be so much easier for everyone if she could just accept this. _

"_Of course I don't want to," he assured her, and immediately doubted the truth of his words. He didn't want to lie to Hermione. "I just… I'm tired, Hermione. I'm so tired. I'm 17 years old, but I feel like I'm 70. And now it's like…there's a light at the end of the tunnel."_

"_I don't think spell-fire counts as a light, mate." Ron threw his two cents in as he wrapped an arm around his crying girlfriend._

_Harry drew himself up taller and schooled his face into a look of composure. "I'm ready for this. And better me than someone else, right? They have families and homes…parents and wives and children. They have lives waiting for them." That was the truth at least. If nothing else, he could believe that._

_Hermione grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard before moving her hands to his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "So do you! You have a future, Harry! You have Ron and me. **We** are your family- your home. It took us a lot of work to keep you alive this long and we're not quitting now. You're going to grow old and have a dozen children and name us godparents for each and every one. You're going to live and we're going to be there every step of the way."_

_A tiny bit of him- that little piece that remained of the bright eyed, eleven year old Harry Potter- flared bright at her words. He so wanted to believe her. He took a deep breath and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. "You promise?"_

"_Of course." Ron chimed in, clapping a large hand to Harry's shoulder and drawing them both into a hug. "We have everything ahead of us, Harry. We've gotten this far, haven't we?"_

* * *

Harry didn't wake from his dream with an anguished shout or a muffled sob. There were no silent tears slipping down his face, no struggle to control the shaking of his overburdened shoulders. There was no soft and wistful sigh. He woke quietly and made his way to the bathroom slowly to empty his bladder and wash up as he did every morning, and if the eyes looking back at him from the mirror looked a little bit emptier today, a little bit deader, he hardly expected anyone to notice. No one had noticed in years. There had been no one _to_ notice.

He exited the bathroom and hesitated at the top of the stairs for a few moments- not contemplating joining the family downstairs, or even throwing himself down them- just standing and staring, inhaling and exhaling, over and over again. Eventually he finished his path back to his temporary bedroom, climbed back into bed and curled in on himself, staring at the blank stretch of wall.

He did not know how long he lay there before he registered the concerned voice and gently prodding hands of Dr. Cullen. He thought he might have responded to several of Carlisle's queries, but if pressed he couldn't tell you what answers he gave and he didn't move except to fold in on himself tighter. On days like this Harry tended to go into emotional shutdown, one of his ingrained defenses from back in the days when he'd been locked in his cupboard for hours upon end. The episodes had all but stopped during his Hogwarts years (though it had scared the crap out of Ron and Neville the one time they'd witnessed one in sixth year) but they'd been occurring more and more since the end of the war. He was vaguely aware of Carlisle's hand, gently gripping his shoulder, and then he was gone and the room was quiet again.

It was true what people said about pain fading with time. No matter how much something hurt, it was impossible to maintain the same level of agony for a period of years. He would bleed his pain for weeks, months even, but eventually the blood ran out and he would be left numb. What nobody accounted for was that the pain came back. Just when the wounds started to scab over, his anger and rage would bubble up again and rip them all open and the bleeding would start anew. Six years and he hadn't found a way to break the cycle yet.

Distantly, he felt thankful that school had started yesterday and that the Cullen children were all out of the house for a few more hours at least. He couldn't handle being around Edward right now, couldn't handle having him in his head. This mind reading thing was getting to him.

He'd never become a master in the art of Occlumency, had never managed to stop the visions that had plagued him until Voldemort's death. The moderately good shields he did employ though had become automatic. If nothing else they'd given him warning. With Snape and Dumbledore- hell with _Voldemort_- he'd always been able to tell when they'd gotten past his defenses. But Edward wasn't a wizard and he wasn't using legilimency. He was just there, slipping under all his walls (and he _needed_ those, dammit), ignoring all the rules of magic and reading Harry's mind. Not just viewing his memories, mind you, but listening to Harry's goddamn _thoughts_. Worse yet, Harry never even knew when it happened unless Edward bothered to tell him.

He blinked back to semi-awareness long enough to get up to use the bathroom again and paused for a moment in the hallway to let Esme put a hand to his forehead and fuss over him a bit before returning to his bed. He wondered if Edward would be able to get in his head right now; he wondered what he would hear if he did. His circuitous thoughts were a distant buzzing in the back of his head and more than anything all Harry could hear, all he could think about was the in and out of his own breaths.

His vacant stare wandered between the off-white walls and the large windows that dotted them, and when a recognizable shape appeared though the glass, careening towards the house, it took several minutes before Harry processed the first actual emotion he'd felt since waking that morning: confusion. As the unfamiliar owl landed on the windowsill and waited for Harry to let him in, confusion gave way to shock. Shock turned into a warring of panic and grief and hope before eventually becoming confusion again and finally prompting him to open the window and collect his letter.

He'd have been kicking himself if he didn't feel so completely off balance with the rush of restored emotions. He'd been in Forks for almost two weeks, and in Washington for over three. Hedwig had caught up to him five days ago, and he still hadn't moved on; did he really think no other owls would be able to find him? He didn't know what he had been thinking, except that well, he didn't actually think anyone would be writing to him. It had been over five years since he'd left the wizarding world, since he'd had any contact with it at all.

It wasn't the first time an owl had found him since his departure; he recalled a few making it to him in his first year or so away. But he had never accepted the letters, never even let them in the window, and he'd traveled so frequently and quickly after that that it had been ages now since he'd seen a post owl other than Hedwig. He'd figured that everyone had given up on him. Actually, he'd rather assumed they all thought he was dead. It had been five years after all, and he'd tried to kill himself twice before finally making a break for it. It would only make sense for them to presume him dead.

The letter- if it could be called that- was massive. It actually appeared to be an assortment of letters, spanning dozens of pages and written out in various inks and several sets of handwriting. The pages were held together with sticking charms and paper clips, loose photographs and scraps of parchment were falling out willy-nilly and he even caught sight of a few muggle post-it notes stuck to the parchments. He picked out Mrs. Weasley's flowing script, and Tonk's chicken scratch and even a complicated calligraphy he thought might belong to Fleur; but the majority of the letters seemed to be in Ginny's familiar scrawl. He started with the first entry and then skimmed through the rest, selecting snippets of writing and reading at random.

_***_

_21 April, 1999_

_You left. You really left. I can't believe…except of course I can believe it. This whole year you've looked so…trapped. I think we all saw it coming. That didn't stop it from hurting though. I mean you just left the hospital before we even got the chance to see you, and after you had just tried to- I mean, God Harry! How could you? You promised us. You promised us you wouldn't do that again. And then you just locked yourself up in Grimmauld Place and two days later when we finally managed to get in you were nowhere to be seen. Mum's out of her mind with worry, thinking that you ran off to…try again. And no one can find you and all the letters are coming back undelivered and I don't even know why I'm writing this, it's not like you'll read it. Which is probably best, seeing as I'm completely hysterical and this is barely coherent and I'm crying all over the parchment. I should blow my ruddy nose on the thing. You'd deserve that. _

_***_

_30 June, 1999_

_So my letter came back, of course. I knew it would really, mum's sent dozens of letters and Fred and George made that disastrous attempt with the howler and Kingsley said the ministry's had no luck contacting you either. I'm sure this one will come back too but I'm going to send it anyway. Actually, I'm just going to tack it on to the last one I sent because if you get this I want you to see that one too with all my tears splotching up the ink because I promise you that's the last time I cry over this, Harry Potter. _

_…Yeah okay, that's completely not true. I know how hard this has been for you Harry, I know how much you're hurting but can't you see that this is hurting us too? I lost three brothers in the war, and now I feel like I'm losing a fourth one. It's been months, Harry. Where are you?_

_***_

_8 September, 2000_

_…and I was going through some of your things yesterday at Grimmauld (call me nosy if you like, you'll have to come back here and see me if you want to do anything about it!) and I found these pictures Colin took of the old DA. And I thought…well I wasn't sure if you took any pictures with you when you left, so just in case you wanted them… I also put in a picture of the family now. It's missing a few people, but it's still a family Harry. I understand why you left…I miss you like hell and sometimes I'm so mad at you I could scream, but I do understand. Take as much time as you need. _

_***_

_31 July, 2001_

_You turned 21 today, and I know you did because you're not dead Harry, you're NOT. Mum's finally stopped setting out an extra plate at dinner for you, but she still made your favorite tonight. Roast beef with those potatoes you love and treacle tart for dessert. No one sat in your chair._

_***_

_19 February, 2002_

_…the new shop is doing really well and they're even thinking of expanding overseas, but I'm sure they've told you all about that in the letter they're attaching (it's the one on the purple and green spotted parchment, in case you couldn't tell). Don't worry, I checked for booby traps and you should be safe. Fred actually looked a little offended when I did, if you can believe that, but George said maybe you needed a few good hexes to put your arse in gear and get you back home. I wonder if parchment can be charmed to bat-bogey a person…_

_***_

_16 May, 2002_

_Fleur gave me a new picture of little Remy to include. He looks more like Bill everyday, and mum and Fleur always say how wonderful it is, but the truth is I think it hurts them a bit. It's so hard to look at him without seeing Bill and I still miss him so much. We tell him all about his daddy though and all about his uncles Percy and Ron, and we take him to Mungo's twice a month to visit his uncle Charlie. And of course he knows all about you._

_***_

_22 June, 2003_

_Artemis came back with your letter again today (obviously), but I refuse to believe that means anything. I'm sure if Hedwig were here she'd be able to find you, but we haven't seen her since you left and I think that more than anything means you **must** be alive. If you weren't she would have come back to us, I know she would, but she'd never leave you while you still needed her so I know that means you're okay. You're both still okay…_

_***_

_10 October, 2003_

_…and you remember the bloke I told you about a few months ago, Richard? Oh Harry, it was awful. He wrote me a poem, if you can believe it, and I'm sure it was supposed to be really romantic and all but I couldn't stop laughing! I just kept picturing the horrified faces you and Ron would have made and comparing it to that (oh god) ridiculous rhyme I wrote you when I was 11 and if he can't take someone poking a little fun at him then I didn't want to date him anyway! Oh who am I kidding, I was going to break up with him in a week anyway, which for the record is also all your fault of course, setting the bar so high like you did when I was just a little girl. How's anybody else ever supposed to measure up to the hero who slew a basilisk with a sword and rescued me from a secret chamber? It's positively ridiculous! _

_***_

_5 July, 2004_

_You were 'spotted' again, outside Munich this time. None of us went to check it out. Partly because of how preposterous the claim was (apparently you were in a sandwich shop ordering a ham and swiss on rye and wearing leather chaps and very little else) but also because it's been five years and we just can't keep running off after every report of you. Sometimes I think of what the Quibbler would have been writing about you now- how you're singing backup for Stubby Boardman or how you're off living at a snorckack nudist colony or something- and it makes me smile. And then I think of the look on your face the day you carried Luna's body back up to the castle and I just… I can't do this right now. I'm sorry. I'll write you again soon, Harry. As always. Please come home._

_***_

There was an aching in Harry's gut, a kind of pain he had known for so long now that it bordered on comforting. Nostalgia for a life he had never really lived. It felt bittersweet, like rain and autumn and every picture he'd ever seen of his parents. It felt old and familiar and somehow almost filling.

He didn't know what to do. He was paralyzed with indecision; the strange pull these people had on him warring with that driving force that constantly pushed him on. He'd been moving for so long, the ghosts and memories constantly nipping at his heels to keep him running. It had never been a question before of _would_ he move on, only where to and by what road. And now there were too many options open to him- here, back to England, the next pit stop on the road- and none of them sounded any less painful than the one before. He swore he could feel it tearing at his insides, and he half expected to start coughing up red any second now.

He had always known that running from his problems was nothing more than a temporary fix, but temporary was something he was used to; fleeting was an old friend. It seemed somewhat ironic now that the only thing permanent in life was him. Well, him and the Cullen's at any rate. _No, not the Cullen's, _he reminded himself. _Immortal doesn't mean indestructible. They can still be killed. They can still leave you. _And what did he care if they did? He wasn't sticking around to see it happen. These people meant nothing to him; they were just another stop on the road. _Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, Harry._

The sound of soft footfalls alerted him to Carlisle's approach only seconds before the door opened to reveal the man. He quickly folded the letters back up and stuffed the bundle out of sight in his bag.

"Harry? How are you feeling?"

He had no idea how to answer that really, but he figured he owed the doctor at least some kind of response considering his earlier disengagement.

"Fine. Better. Sorry if I freaked you out before."

"That's alright. I'm glad to see you're back with us now."

Abruptly and without reason, the panic rose back up to overshadow the other myriad of conflicting emotions and suddenly Harry's options didn't seem so open and confusing anymore. _Go with what you know, Potter._

"Yeah, about that- I need to go. Sorry, I just- sorry." He swung his legs off the bed and stuffed his feet into his ratty trainers.

"What? Harry, slow down. Where do you have to go?"

"I'm really sorry, I have to get out of here. I've stayed too long already. And I have to…I need to get my bike."

"Just wait a few hours, won't you? Think it over."

He shook his head. "The others will be back soon. It's best I head out before they get here and talk me out of it," he said with a rueful grin. If Alice was watching out for his futures while she was at school, it was possible they were on their way back all ready.

"How long do you plan to keep running, Harry?"

So close to his earlier thoughts, that momentarily stopped him in his tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"I won't pretend to know what it is that you are running from, but I recognize running when I see it," Carlisle said, sincerity shining from his eyes. He paused and then asked, "Is it working?"

Feeling stricken, Harry shook his head vaguely as he sank back down to the bed. He never claimed to be less than transparent, and it was hardly the first time someone had recognized his actions for what they were, but it _was_ the first time someone had questioned their efficacy. "I'm not sure. How do you know when it's working?"

"Have you escaped yet?"

"No."

"Then I don't think it's working."

"I don't know what else to do." His voice was so quiet he almost thought he might have imagined speaking.

"Stay here. Stay with us. Let us take care of you."

Take care of him? Harry didn't know how to let someone else take care of him; he had always been the one who'd had to protect everyone else. For so long he had held everyone he knew above water while he was struggling beneath the surface all along, drowning under their weight. Even now, when all he wanted was to let the undertow carry him down, he couldn't seem to stop treading water.

"I can't."

"Running isn't helping, Harry. You said so yourself. Why not try something new?"

"I don't know. I mean…better the devil you know, right?"

"Loyalty to a petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul." Carlisle quoted back. "Don't let your fear rule you."

Harry gaped a little at the feeling of deja vu, and then almost laughed. It felt like talking to Dumbledore back in the early days, before Sirius's death and the undercurrent of anger that flavored all their interactions thereafter. Better than that; it felt like talking to Remus. Harry felt a flood of warmth in his chest mix with the rising bubble of hysterical laughter.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands to the sockets. "I uh… I have to get my bike. I left it with Jacob, I have to pick it up."

Carlisle fixed him with a penetrating stare and nodded. "All right, Harry. Will you come back?"

"I…I don't know. I…" He had no idea what he wanted to say. I'm sorry? Thank you? Goodbye? Instead he gave a single jerky nod and disapparated away.

* * *

Arriving in the clearing where he had last seen his bike, Harry ran a quick check of all his extremities and breathed a sigh of relief to find everything in place. Well, at least that had worked all right. An hour and a half of walking, getting lost, and begging for directions later, Harry found himself standing in front of the Black's house.

Knocking on the door, he only had a minute to wonder what time it was and whether Jacob would even be home yet before he was greeted by a widely smiling teenaged boy.

"Harry, hey! Come on in, I was wondering what happened to you. You were supposed to call."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I should have rang before I came by, but I was in the neighborhood so I figured…"

"It's no problem. I was gonna take it out for a spin if you hadn't picked it up after a week." Jacob grinned enthusiastically. "Kinda wish you had waited a few more days."

Harry smiled in return. "So does that mean it's working then? It was just the spark plug thing?"

"Yup. Didn't take more than a few hours to clean up. I replaced a few of your nuts too- they'd started to rust a little- and I lubricated the chain while I was at it. It didn't look like you'd done it in a while."

"Oh, um, wow. Thanks. You didn't have to do all that."

Jacob shrugged good-naturedly. "I was bored. Dad won't let me start building a new car 'til we can sell the truck."

"Well, your boredom is my good luck I suppose. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Jacob waved him off. "I told you, I wanted to do it. You didn't need any new parts except for the nuts and I already had those lying around."

"There must be something I can do for you then."

"Well…"

"What?"

"You could let me drive her."

"Are you even old enough?"

"Not exactly. I've got another year before I can get my license. But I know how, and it's not a problem as long as I stay on the res. Everyone knows me around here."

Harry hesitated and Jacob stuck his lower lip out in a playful pout. "I swear I'm a really good driver," he cajoled.

"Yeah, all right. But I'm riding on back. My bike doesn't go anywhere without me."

Jacob's answering grin was alarmingly huge. "Sure, sure. No problem."

Jacob's cheerfulness (disturbing as it was) was sort of infectious, and Harry found himself laughing and whooping along with the teenager as they took off full speed down the coast.

* * *

"That was awesome! This baby's got a lot more power to it than Embry's dirt bike. Felt like we were flying, man!"

"Yeah." Harry smiled wistfully. He missed flying. He'd thought about trying to charm the Marauder to get airborne like Sirius's old bike, but while his knowledge of the spells that would be needed was pretty fair, he didn't know enough about the bikes mechanics to not gum up the inner workings while doing so. _He_ didn't…but he bet Jacob did.

"Hey Jacob, do you think you could teach me some of that engine stuff? I'd love to be able to do the maintenance work myself."

"Sure, sure," he said and then looked at Harry curiously. "Are you staying around here then? I've never seen you before, and you said you didn't have a phone number or anything, so I kind of figured you were just passing though."

"Oh. Yeah, I was. Or I mean, I am, maybe. I've been staying with some…friends in Forks. They want me to stick around a bit longer. I hadn't really decided yet." Carlisle's words had been prodding at him all afternoon, constantly nagging in the back of his mind.

"What else would you do? I mean, if you didn't stick around? Are you going back home after this?"

"Uh…no. I've been on sort of a road trip. I guess I'd just go to the next place."

"Yeah? That sounds cool. I've never really even been outside of Washington."

"Yeah, it's…actually it gets a bit old after a while." God, did it get old. He was sick of sleeping in motels, sick of eating fast food. Sick of being alone. Outside of the whole shattered bones/punctured lung thing, he'd been more comfortable these past two weeks than he had in 5 years.

"Huh. Well, you should stick around then."

"You think?" And it's not like it would be permanent or anything. He could just go back for a little bit. Enjoy the bed, the food…the company, and when he was ready to leave again he'd take off.

Jacob nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Forks isn't so bad. I mean it rains all the time and there's not much to do, but it has it's high points."

Harry snorted. "Like what?"

"Well the forest is pretty cool if you're into nature and all that, and there's the beach, cliff diving and stuff," Harry tensed up at that. "And of course I'm here, and you know I'm awesome."

He laughed. "Yeah, I do know that."

"So you should stay. I mean, as long as your friends are cool with it. Who are you staying with anyway?"

"Uh, the Cullens."

"Really?" Jacob hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more, but decided against it.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just…the Cullen's. There are stories about them on the reservation. They're not supposed to come here."

That was interesting. So Jacob knew about the treaty with the Cullen's, but not about being a shapeshifter? He wondered if he knew _why_ the Cullen's weren't supposed to come to the reservation.

"Yeah, I know. They told me."

"They did? Did they tell you why?"

"Yup." Jacob leveled a stare at him that clearly stated he thought Harry was crazy. Guess that answered the question of how much the teenager knew.

"So… are we on for motorcycle engine lessons next week?"

* * *

It was dark by the time he made it back to the Cullen's, and the house, though brightly lit, was almost empty. Esme met him at the door, checking him for injuries and chiding him for leaving without saying goodbye, before wrapping him in a blanket (to Harry's complete befuddlement as it was almost 60° out) and settling him on the sofa.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Out looking for you. Carlisle was hoping you'd come back on your own, but Edward was determined so the others went to help him. I'll go call and let them know you're back."

Harry suppressed an indignant huff at once again being made to sound like a lost puppy. Esme left the room, presumably to find the phone and Harry dug though his bag searching for the new iPod that had appeared on his nightstand just yesterday, trying not to think about how weird it was to be in the house when it was so empty and silent.

He was untangling the earbud wires when Rosalie's voice startled him into almost falling off the couch. "You came back. Again."

"Jesus! Make some noise, would you?"

"Why?" It was the first time she had spoken to him since Edward had dragged him back from the reservation border four days ago.

"Because it's creepy as hell when you show up behind someone without warning?"

She rolled her eyes in a surprisingly human gesture. "Why did you come back?"

"I don't know. Because I was tired and it's wet outside and I didn't want to sleep on the ground. Because I…just because, okay?"

"Because of Edward?"

"No," he said flatly and wondered if it was a lie. He changed the subject. "He still not talking to you?"

Edward and Rosalie had mostly been ignoring each other ever since Harry's little aborted escape attempt. He was pretty sure it was because of him. She shrugged and rolled her eyes again. "I knew he'd be pissed." She waited a moment before continuing. "I didn't give you a ride just to get rid of you, you know. I don't hate you."

Crap. So much for that change of subject, this looked like it was shaping up to be a deep conversation. Time to deflect. "I know," he said shooting her his most charming smile, which at the moment was only slightly more charismatic than his I-plan-to-kill-you smile, "I figured at least half of it was an effort to get into my pants."

Rosalie was not to be deterred. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to get involved with Edward."

"_What?_" Harry sputtered. "I'm not _involved_ with him!"

The skeptical tilt of her eyebrow indicated she didn't believe him.

"I'm not!"

"This can't end well, Harry. Where do you think this is going?"

"Nowhere! It isn't going anywhere!"

"Exactly. You belong with other humans."

The logical thing of course would have been to keep denying, but her self-righteous tone prodded at something in him and that old need to play Devil's Advocate popped up. "Actually, I can categorically assure you that is not so."

"You're not like us. You don't want to be like us. Becoming a vampire isn't going to fix your problems."

Harry felt dumbstruck. The idea had never even occurred to him. He didn't even know if it would be possible for him to be turned, not to mention that the last thing he wanted was to become _more_ indestructible. "That's not- what? You think I want to become a vampire? I didn't come back here to have you guys turn me! Honestly, who does that?"

"Generally speaking, the kind of person who spends their free time with a group of vampires." Well, that was fair enough, he supposed.

"For fucks sake, I've been trying to _kill myself_, what makes you think I would want to be changed?"

"Then why did you come back here?"

Good question. He'd like the answer to that one himself. "I…I don't know. Carlisle said…and…I don't know!"

"You don't belong here, Harry, with creatures like us."

He laughed derisively. "You put far too much worth on humanity, you know. Just because I'm not a vampire doesn't mean I'm not a monster. More evil lies in men than you can imagine."

"I'm not an idiot," she snapped. "I know that humankind has evil in it. I know that better than anyone. Do you think you're the only person that's had a hard life? Do you know how I came to be a vampire? Carlisle changed me when he found me lying broken and dying in the street. I was raped and left for dead by my fiancé. And Jasper? He was changed while fighting in the Civil War. Carlisle was bitten while leading a hunt for our kinds. His father used to burn witches and vampires at the stake- or try anyway. You're not the only one who's endured tragedy and hardships; we've all seen terrible things. You can either get over it and move on-"

"Or I can jump off a cliff. Yeah, I got it. Thanks," he spat back.

He didn't mean to be such a jackass, but he _knew_ all this already. He was not so self-centered or arrogant as to believe that he was the only one who suffered, or even to think that no one had suffered greater than he. He was not so childish as to believe that no one could understand the pain he'd endured or that they were not equally familiar with the crushing weight he bore on his thin shoulders.

But he was also not so naïve as to believe that that somehow made it more tolerable. Some people perhaps, might take comfort in knowing that another could truly empathize with their sorrow, but for Harry that knowledge only caused him to pull further into himself. At least before the war's end, immersed in depression and anger though he may have been, he had held onto the belief that he was doing some good. His own life and happiness were forfeit and had been since before his birth, but it was a sacrifice he had understood and had been willing to make for the people he loved.

It hadn't worked though. Even those that had survived the war had suffered too much to ever truly heal. And it had hurt him to stay with the tattered remnants of his former life more than it had hurt him to leave. He had run from their pain, and his own, and the aftermath the war had left behind. But all he had encountered was more wretchedness. More people just as broken down and burdened as he, though they hadn't been touched by his war, or even known of its existence. Innocent people still died violent deaths. Children were born into a world that he had made free from the rule of the Dark Lord Voldemort…and they still lost their parents. They still grew up unloved and mistreated.

The atrocities that had happened to Rosalie, the evils that Carlisle and Jasper had seen and committed and born, the sheer misfortune of the others; these tribulations had occurred before Harry Potter or Tom Riddle had ever lived. That kind of darkness had always existed and always would. It was not something he could fight and that knowledge weighed heavily on his soul. He could not save the world. And maybe the world didn't deserve to be saved. There was too much ugliness in it and he had seen too much of it and contributed to too much, and nothing, nothing could ever be right again.

Luna had spoken to him once about a theory of hers. Much like the old muggle idea that a person was born with a preset allotment of heartbeats, she claimed that they were born with a fixed amount of tragedy that their souls could bear, and once they reached that threshold, that was it. She confided that she had reached her limit and had told him how sorry she was that the fates had seen fit to take his away. He hadn't known what she was talking about at the time but had clumsily comforted her all the same when she threw her arms around him gave one loud and awkward sob in that strange way she had of expressing her emotions so overtly. It had made many people uncomfortable around her in her short life, often including Harry himself, and he missed it so much now he sometimes choked on it.

That was the last time he had seen her before stumbling over her lifeless body on the battlefield. He hadn't resented her death at the time; he knew she was just as ready for it as he was and he'd had every intention of joining her soon. He wondered now if Luna hadn't had a bit of the Sight in her; if she'd somehow known of his fate even before it had befallen him.

"I was going to say 'or you could spend the rest of your life wallowing in self-pity,'" Rosalie continued, breaking him from his thoughts.

"I like my idea better."

"Clearly. Remind me again, how'd that one work out for you?"

He glared at her and grumbled a few less-than-flattering expletives under his breath.

"You know I can hear you, right?"

"Yes."

She scowled, and then heaved an unnecessary sigh as she carefully schooled her expression to a gentle look of understanding. "I don't mean to be interfering, really, but I don't think-"

"Look," he interrupted before she could tell him again what a bad idea it was for him to fall in love with Edward and convert to vampirism. "I'm not- this is the stupidest argument ever! I'm not involved with Edward, so none of this matters. I'm not becoming a vampire!"

There was that eyebrow tilt again. "So then you just intend to hang around a bunch of vampires forever?"

"It's been two weeks! Why does everyone think I'm moving in? You people are nuts."

"Says the kid staying with vampires!"

Harry rolled his eyes and then gave a little half-shrug. She sort of had a point there. Again.

"So how long are you planning to stay? Until you're old enough to look like our father? Grandfather?"

"I thought we'd already covered the whole 'you don't know a goddamn thing about me' issue," he snapped.

"Maybe not, but I know that any one of us would give everything we have for the chance that you're so eager to throw away."

"What chance is that?"

"The chance to be _human_. To have children, and watch them grow and grow old yourself. The chance to live a real life."

He thought about Hermione's promise from so many years ago, and the half-formed dreams he'd never really allowed himself to think about. Vague imaginings of Sunday dinners at the Burrow, a whole brood of children running round the back garden, calling him 'daddy' or 'uncle Harry' and clamoring for piggyback rides. Fantasies of getting married, making his own family, having a career. These things were not options for the eternally seventeen.

He laughed. It was a broken, bitter sound that he barely recognized. "Like I said, you really, _really_ don't know anything about my situation."

"Right. Because you're so misunderstood. You have everything; you have a whole life ahead of you. Grow up, Harry."

_We have everything ahead of us, Harry. We've gotten this far, haven't we?_

"I can't."

She blinked, like she was shocked to hear him say that. Which was totally fair, because Harry was pretty fucking shocked to have said it himself. He laughed again, weakly and blinked back the tears he could feel pricking behind his eyelids. He spoke the words again quietly, just to feel the shape of them on his tongue.

"I can't."

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: Yeah, that was a bit of a cliffhanger. Don't hate me? Many thanks go to Von who was ten kinds of awesome for letting me bounce ideas off of her and ramble on about my story. Credit for the idea of Harry's letter goes to her. Also, I skanked a line (sort of) from the episode Magnificent Seven of Supernatural for Harry's memory/dream.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer_: They are still not mine. Harry Potter and Edward Cullen belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively. I do not profit from writing about their big gay love, other than the joy it brings to my twisted little heart.

_Warnings_: Angst. Oh the Angst. No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes, though really if you've gotten this far, you should know this already.

_Author's Note_: Happy late Thanksgiving! Well, for the Americans. Happy Friday for everyone else! Or...um happy Saturday for anyone more than 4 hours ahead of me. This year I am thankful for stories about the fictional gay love of wizards and vampires. I think I actually like this chapter, but I'm kind of nervous about what reception it'll get, so be nice.

* * *

* * *

Chapter Ten

Carlisle wasn't thrilled about Edward insisting on going out looking for Harry. Much as he wanted the young wizard to stay, both for Edward's sake and Harry's own, the boy wasn't a prisoner and they had no right to keep him against his will. He was still hoping that Harry might return on his own; it had been less than eight hours since he'd left and he thought that if given enough time Harry might truly think about what Carlisle had said to him earlier. But Edward was determined, and Alice, Jasper, and Emmett were eager to get their new friend back as well, so Carlisle accompanied them, if only to ensure that his overzealous children did not accost Harry and force him back to the house.

Truthfully, he couldn't really blame Edward for his fervor in safeguarding Harry. The wizard seemed to have a strong effect on everyone in his family, but Edward for his part, was dealing not only with the strange sensation of wanting to protect a human, but also with the intensity of experiencing love for the first time.

If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that it scared him a little. Falling in love with a human was a difficult enough situation on its own; falling in love with a human as broken as Harry seemed to be…well, that presented a whole different set of problems.

Edward had his fair share of self-esteem issues all by himself- believing that he was a monster, so honestly convinced that his soul was damned to spend eternity in hell- when compounded with Harry's bevy of apparent emotional problems, the pair could quite possibly crash and burn on an scale of epic proportions.

On the other hand they could turn out to be exactly what the other needed most. Edward had been so lonely for so long. Despite his claims of being complete unto himself, Carlisle knew how much he had longed for the kind of relationship everyone else in the family had. Even so, it had surprised him how little Edward had tried to hold himself back, how briefly he had protested his feelings. Edward had always been one to hold people at arms length, humans doubly so.

Had it been anyone but Harry, Carlisle was sure Edward would have been running full speed in the opposite direction- halfway to Alaska within an hour of Harry's arrival- in an effort to save them from himself. Harry though, had already been running as fast as his broken body would permit, and somehow that had prompted Edward into giving chase rather than making own his escape. Maybe because he was able to see how much Harry needed someone- needed _him_- or maybe he was just more contrary than Carlisle had previously given him credit for.

It still worried him though. Edward was already so invested in Harry and his well-being, and he didn't know what it would do to his son if Harry had really left for good. If he couldn't save Harry from himself.

Carlisle was not a psychiatrist, but he had been through med school more than a half dozen times, and had done his fair share of psych rotations. He could not help keeping a list of possible diagnoses in his head as he had interacted with Harry. It was in his nature to try and help people, and Harry clearly needed help for more than just his physical injuries. Upon meeting the boy, stoic and shattered in his hospital bed, his first thought had of course been major depression. After spending several weeks with Harry though, and observing his impulsive behavior and his rapid cycling between depression, anxiety, and anger, he had adjusted his course of thought to bipolar disorder. He knew from his readings on the wizarding medical community that while wizards were less likely to suffer from depression than non-magical humans, they were far more prone to bouts of manic behavior.

Neither illness was acknowledged in the wizarding world with the significance it was given in the non-magical medical community. The so-called 'muggle fixation on mental health' was considered curious and a bit comical. In the magical world, depression and anxiety were treated with cheering charms, which seemed to temporarily manage the symptoms, but did not deal at all with the underlying causes. Mania was not treated at all, merely labeled as eccentricity (as was dementia) and taken in stride. The more incapacitating mental illnesses- debilitating cognitive disorders, schizophrenia and other psychotic disorders- were contained rather than treated; the patients kept in locked wards and made as comfortable as possible, but without any real attempt to heal. And as far as he knew the wizarding world didn't even have a name for borderline personality disorder, which the diagnosis he was starting to consider for Harry after witnessing what he could only describe as a dissociative episode just that morning.

Nothing could really be determined of course without speaking in depth with Harry. The boy didn't exactly seem eager to open up to anyone, but Carlisle had resolved himself to at least try. That was, until Harry had hastily packed up his things and disappeared with a soft pop, leaving behind only the rumpled bedclothes and a stray photograph tangled within them.

He recognized it as a wizarding photo from the way the subjects moved about the frame, featuring a group of about 20 teenagers. Harry stood off to the side of the picture looking rather somber before being bodily dragged to the front of the group by two teens and finally being coaxed into smiling by a combination of good-natured jabs to his torso and teasing hands ruffling his hair. He watched the loop several times through, examining Harry and his cohorts. Harry looked grim- much like he had that morning- a little more tense, a little less weary. The smile he wore looked strained, and it didn't erase the stress lines around his eyes and mouth. There was a light in his eyes though that Carlisle had never seen, faint and fading, but still perceptible.

The real surprise however, came when Carlisle had carelessly flipped the picture over and read the neatly printed words on the back. _Defense Association - February 1998._ That was... unexpected. He had stared at the words for a considerable amount of time, tracing the letters over and over with his eyes in hope that he had misread something. The words had not changed though, nor had he been able to determine any kind of alternate meaning for them. He had turned the picture back over, looking for any hint that it had been taken almost seven years ago, but there was none. Harry looked almost exactly the same in the picture as he did now, and through his hair was several inches shorter and he was dressed in wizard's robes there were no other changes apparent.

Carlisle had pocketed the photo and not said anything about it to anyone- not even Esme or Edward. He didn't know what it meant and the family was already worried about Harry's leaving. Besides which, he didn't even know if they would be seeing Harry again. No, it was better to leave such things until he knew more about it, or at least until he saw Harry again and had the possibility of learning more about it. So he agreed to accompany the children on their search for Harry and resolutely did not think about the photograph in Edward's presence.

They were already halfway back to the house when Esme called Carlisle to tell him that Harry had returned- Alice having seen it in a vision a few minutes prior. They could hear the sounds of Harry and Rosalie's argument a half mile away, and put on an extra burst of speed to get there. They reached the door Esme was hovering in- wide-eyed and worried- just in time to hear Harry's soft declaration that he couldn't grow up.

"What are you talking about?" Rosalie asked, voice gentler now, not nearly as sure of herself as she had been only a minute before.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the thoughts from his head. "Just- I'm an immature prat, that's all. Sorry, Rosalie." He turned away, only to be confronted with the rest of the family staring at him from the doorway.

"Dr. Cullen!" he said, though his eyes darted to seek out Edward. He looked positively jumpy. "Um. Hi. Good to see you. You said I should come back, and stay…awhile. And uh, that thing you said? About, um…loyalty to an opinion. So I came back. Just for a bit." Harry rambled nervously, voice picking up speed as he went along.

"It's fine, Harry," he soothed. He was surprised and more than a bit pleased to learn that Harry had taken his words to heart. "We're glad to have you back. You know you're welcome here."

Harry was looking at him with calculating eyes, like he was picking apart his words and looking for the part that would hurt, the fishhook embedded in the soft center.

"Great. Thanks. Well, would you look at the time," he said, glancing at the spot on his wrist where his watch would be had he been wearing one. "I was just going to go up to bed. Long day you know."

He probably should have let the boy go. It was obvious he was trying to make a quick getaway, hoping that no one would press him about his slip of the tongue, and he was right about one thing, it _had_ been a long day. But his inadvertent confession had intrigued Carlisle, and the photograph had been weighing heavy in his pocket all day.

"Harry," he said, halting the boy in his steps. He withdrew the picture and held it out to him, the words on the back facing up. "You left this behind."

Harry stared at the photo for a long moment without taking it before looking back up to meet Carlisle's eyes, a defensive glint plain to see in his own. "Is this where we do the whole Spanish Inquisition thing?" he asked, a wide, plastic smile stretched across his face. "Because I've got to tell you, I wasn't expecting it."

That got the expected snicker from Emmett and even a twitch of the lips from Jasper, but no one took the bait and Carlisle could see the trepidation rising in Harry's eyes at the prospect of being grilled by the whole family.

"Oh come, no one's gonna say it?" he huffed, still trying to deflect. "Bloody Americans. Absolutely no sense of humor."

He was tempted to let it go. Harry was clearly distressed and the last thing he wanted to do was to further agitate the boy. If he was going to help him though, he needed to know what he was dealing with. Not to mention he needed to know what he was getting his family into by bringing Harry into his home. Correction: what he had _gotten_ his family into. There was no going back now even if it wanted to.

"Why don't we go up to my study?" he asked, conscious of Harry's mounting panic at having so many questioning eyes fixed on him. He wanted Harry to talk, not feel backed into a corner. From what he knew of the boy that would only cause him to get more defensive and clam up.

"No, that's okay." The wizard visibly steeled himself. "I'd rather just do this the once if it's all the same to you. Besides, it's not like it's a national secret or anything. Might as well fill in the rest of the assembly."

He moved them back to the sofa that Harry had been sitting on before trying to make a break for the stairs; it was more comfortable and casual than the dining room table where they usually held their discussions and would hopefully help put Harry at ease. Edward glared at him as he sat down next to Harry and directed Jasper to his other side.

_I'm sorry Edward, but he's nervous enough right now without outside distractions affecting him as well._

"I don't make him nervous." Edward grumbled back petulantly, under his breath. They both knew he did though, that Harry often got as tense as a tightrope when in close proximity to Edward, and Edward apparently conceded the point to Carlisle since he stopped glaring and moved to the loveseat next to the sofa.

As predicted, a tiny bit of the tension went out of Harry's shoulders as Edward settled himself a few feet away from Harry. What was interesting though, was the way Harry's body unconsciously seemed to turn to follow Edward's progress across the room, even as he relaxed at the space put between them.

Harry took a deep breath and began to speak, eyes staring straight ahead, focused on some unseen point.

"How much do you know about the wizarding world?"

"Only the basics I'm afraid," Carlisle answered for the group. "And a fair amount about healing practices," he added for himself. "Enough to know that not aging in over six years is not common place."

Five heads whipped around to look at him, eyes wide with shock. Only Edward's did not stray from where they were fixed on Harry, indicating to Carlisle that he'd probably at least suspected something of this nature before today. His first son gave a brief nod to confirm Carlisle's internal speculations, but did not explain any further. Understandable, as Carlisle himself was not taking the time to enlighten his family on how he'd come to such a conclusion himself. They'd catch on fast enough, and he didn't think it wise to interrupt Harry now.

"No. It's not," Harry agreed with a dry chuckle. "The wizarding world... is an amazing and extraordinary place. With a long and storied history, and honestly, I'm not the best person to tell you about it. I always fell asleep in that class. What I _can_ tell you, is that like any culture, alongside the enchanting beauty it has it's fair share of ugliness. Perhaps more than it's fair share. Bigotry, hatred, fear, corruption. Actually, that part you probably _are _familiar with. Unlike most cultures, prejudice in the wizarding world is not between races, or sexes, or religions. It's between pure-blooded wizards and…well, just about everyone else. Half blooded-wizards, non-magical humans, and sentient magical species such as yourselves."

Carlisle nodded to confirm they were familiar with the prejudices of which Harry spoke.

"There's been a great number of people over long period of time who've believed that pure-bloods should be in charge of things. The most notable in recent history was a wizard who called himself Voldemort. He was very dark, and very powerful, and quite frankly, very crazy. He started a war, a couple in fact, with the purpose 'cleansing' wizard-kind. That is to say, he wanted to kill all the muggle-borns and half-bloods."

"The first war began about 30 years ago. My parents were young; still in school, but eager to fight. They joined as soon as they were of age. I didn't have that option; I was drafted before I was even born. A few months before my birth there was a prophecy made. It said that a child would be born with the power to kill the Dark Lord. That he would have a power that the Dark Lord knew not, and one of them would have to kill the other. There was more to it of course, specifications and whatnot, but the gist was that I was the child."

"But prophecies-" Alice started to say.

"Are different in the wizarding world." Harry interrupted. "The future's not set in stone, I know. But it's _magic_, it's not exactly logical. I don't really know how they work; Hermione always said they're mostly self-fulfilling. Prophecies are catalysts that spur their subjects into fulfilling them," he said, sounding like he was reciting an oft-heard quote.

"I didn't find out about it until I was 15. I should have figured it out earlier- everything pointed to…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "My parents went into hiding of course, but it wasn't enough. They were killed when I was a year old and in the process Voldemort was, well…disrupted, you could say. He was trying to exterminate me, but the curse rebounded and he was expelled from his body. There followed after a decade of peace where everyone pretended like he was gone for good and people celebrated on the anniversary on my parents' murder. I was shipped off to live with relatives. They weren't exactly…fond of me." The look in Harry's eyes made Carlisle feel this was, perhaps, an understatement.

"I grew up muggle and didn't find out about any of this stuff until I was eleven. That was the year I started school and was brought back into the wizarding community…that was the year He started trying to return." The aberrant capitalization was clear in his voice.

"I think…I was happy, for the most part. For a while at least. My real family hated me, and someone was always trying to kill me, but I had two best friends who were always there when things got crazy, and I had a surrogate family of sorts. For a couple of years I even had a godfather. But things just kept getting worse every year and I was always at the center of it all. I was so _stupid_, I should have realized…but I was just a kid. I didn't think it could possibly all come down to me. Dumbledore finally told me two months before my sixteenth birthday, a year after Voldemort had succeeded in returning to his body. And I…" He chuckled mirthlessly, not seeming to know how to finish his thought.

"Dumbledore- fucking Dumbledore- always said that my power was love. I guess you could classify it that way. What he called love, I call sheer desperation and insanity. It came down to the same thing in the end though, a willingness to put everything before myself. Apparently the ultimate power- the only thing that could defeat the greatest and most evil wizard of the last century- was my suicidal tendencies."

Edward gave a violent jerk and opened his mouth to speak, and Harry shot Carlisle a grateful look when he dropped a calming hand onto his son's shoulder. They needed to let him get this out quickly.

"It was Hermione who found the spell. She'd practically been living in the library that year, and having Remus bring her moldy old books from all over the place. This book though, this one came from Dumbledore's private stores. I'm not even sure what language it was in, probably cuneiform as old as the bloody thing was. She was the one that found it, but she didn't want me to use it. Outright forbade me actually. She insisted that we could find another way, but I wasn't so sure."

Eyes unfocused, Harry didn't seem to realize he had stopped speaking until finally Esme broke the quiet, "And the spell?"

"It was more like an…invocation. Ancient magic. _Omnia pro vobis_." The words were breathed out more than actually spoken.

"Everything for you." Carlisle translated aloud.

Harry nodded. "The book called it…the power to fix what is needed. Or something like that. Hermione didn't want me doing it and Ron didn't believe it would actually work. Said it was nothing but an old witches tale. We didn't even really know what it would do. No one did. There was only one account we could find of it being used, and that was more legend than anything. It was the story of a man whose wife was dying and could not be cured by any known magic. He performed this spell and asked for great power so that he could save her. But to be granted the power he had to sacrifice himself, and when the wife woke and discovered that her husband had died for her, she killed herself in her grief. Bloody cheerful, huh?"

Carlisle felt tendrils of cold dread creeping up over him. Despite the fact that the boy was sitting in front of him, alive and- if not exactly _well_, then healthy at least- he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest of Harry's story.

Unaware of Carlisle's trepidation, Harry continued talking. "I promised Hermione I wouldn't do it. I promised her, but then she and Ron were gone, and there was nothing left. I couldn't find anything that would kill him." He paused and breathed out in a slow exhale. "And I wanted it. I wanted it to end for both of us. So when he stormed the castle, when I saw him again, face-to-face, I did it. I provided my life's blood as a symbol of my sacrifice and I said the words." He idly traced a scar on his right palm. "It wasn't even a difficult spell, barely NEWT standard."

"But then it didn't have to be you! Anyone could have done it!" Edward finally burst out, no longer able to contain himself.

Harry shook his head fiercely. His knee bounced up and down nervously, and Carlisle felt a soft swell of calm push through the room before both boys settled back and Harry continued. He'd have to remember to thank Jasper later. "The spell wasn't designed to kill people, or save people. It just did…what needed to be done. Righted what was wrong. It required the caster to have a, well…not a pure heart exactly- that's what the book called it- but it's more like a decisive one."

"You have to want whatever it is that you want more than anything else. Which sounds obvious enough, but the fact is there's a lot of people out there who believe they want world peace, but what they really want is to keep their families safe, or to marry the person they love, or to have the respect of the people around them. People are inherently selfish. They can train themselves to be good, to do the right thing, but they can't change their desires, and deep down inside they're always going to have their own self-interest at heart. That's just human nature. Hell, that's the nature of any life form. I'm not any different, it's just that my selfish desires happened to match up with the greater need of the wizarding world." He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly.

"And honestly, I probably wasn't the only person alive who could make that claim- that they wanted Voldemort dead more than anything else- but then of course the spellcaster had to be willing to die for whatever their goal was. Really, deep down willing, because with magic, well…magic always knows.**"**

He hunched over a little tighter and took a deep breath. "But when it came down to it in the end, I wasn't even sure if I _would_ qualify. On my worse days back then my greatest want was kind of a toss up between killing Voldemort, and killing myself. I figured I didn't really have anything to lose those though, in trying it. I mean, either my want to die would win out, and I would, or my desire to kill him and protect the people I loved who were still alive would win. And I would still die. Kind of a win-win situation there, you know? Except I didn't account for it going wrong."

Carlisle sat in shock, not knowing what to say. Lord, what was wrong with these people, that they had put all this on the shoulders of a teenager, a _child_. He was sure if it were possible he would have felt sick to his stomach.

A floodgate seemed to have opened in Harry and he spoke without reservation now. "It all seemed to go right. It felt like…I could feel all the magic of the earth. Like I was just drawing it up from the ground and channeling it through my body. Into him. It burned like nothing I've ever felt. I didn't even cast a spell to kill him. I just looked at him and he...exploded into dust. Or something." He laughed wryly, bringing his hands up over his face and pressing the heels into his eyes.

"And then it was done and I just stood there waiting. I didn't know exactly how long it was supposed to take, but in the story the man keeled over right after he finished his task. So I kept waiting, but…nothing happened. I just kept standing there; just kept _breathing_. I didn't realize that was going to be a permanent affliction until a few weeks later. No matter what I tried I just kept…breathing. It was another three years or so before I realized in addition to not dying, I also wasn't aging. I was 21 years old and I looked the exactly the same as I had 2 months before my eighteenth birthday. I probably should have been shocked, but I wasn't. I think I already knew. I mean if a belly full of poison or ten minutes at the bottom of a lake didn't do it, why would I expect old age to have a fighting chance, right?" he asked, voice sounding tired and rusty to Carlisle's ears.

"I don't… I still don't know what went wrong, what it did to me. I don't even know what I _am_. If you don't die, if you don't age, are you still human? I mean, that's sort of an important part of being human, it's practically in the definition. The only certain thing, right?" He looked at Carlisle, green eyes wide with desperation, as if hoping that he could actually answer the question; assure Harry that he was still human, that his own biological makeup hadn't betrayed him along with every other thing in his life.

But Carlisle didn't know that for sure and he wasn't going to lie to Harry. Instead he wrapped an arm around the boy and hoped that the touch could comfort him where words could not. He had half expected Harry to go stiff or shrug him off, so it came as something of a surprise when he just sort of…slumped into Carlisle's side, like a puppet with its strings cut. Like a boy who did not have the means or motive to support himself any longer.

Edward looked wrecked, crushed down with the weight of Harry's admission almost as much as Harry himself was. Rosalie appeared awkward, the guilt an unfamiliar sentiment on her beautiful face. The rest of the family's faces showed a combination of sympathy and curiosity.

No one seemed quite sure what to say, and the hush hung somewhat uncomfortably until at last Emmett asked, "So how old are you really, then?"

"Twenty-four last July," Harry answered, still sagged onto Carlisle's shoulder.

"And what about the rest of the wizarding world? What happ-"

"That's enough," Edward said, cutting them off from asking any more questions. Carlisle didn't know if he had heard something distressing in Harry's mind, or if he was just basing that on his own qualifications of what 'enough' was, but in this case he was inclined to agree with him. They'd had their curiosity satisfied, and Harry looked exhausted, having been through more than enough for one night.

"Come on Harry," Edward said, pulling the boy up from his seat on the couch and wrapping a gentle arm around his waist. "Let's get you up to bed."

Harry moved passively where Edward directed him, half-dead on his feet. And then they were gone, and Carlisle was left with the rest of his family and the confession of a broken-down hero echoing in the silent room.

"What do we do now?" Alice asked into the stillness.

* * *

The next several weeks passed as if the conversation had never happened. No one brought up what Harry had told them and Edward glared at anyone who so much as even thought about doing so until they changed their minds. Edward skipped school almost as much as he attended, and the others took turns staying home on days when he didn't. Harry, for his part, pretended as if he didn't notice that at least one of the children was with him at all times.

He had good days and bad days. Days where he chuckled softly and played video games with Jasper and Emmett and fended off Alice's attempts to dress him, and days where he didn't speak at all or even get out of bed, though he did let Edward climb in next to him and curl around him protectively. He made trips out to the reservation periodically to work on his motorcycle with a friend he had made there, but for the most part he stayed at the house, repeatedly denying the children's attempts to get him to join them at school.

He no longer seemed quite as on edge though, like he was preparing to bolt at any second. But neither did he seem to be settling in either. It was like he was hanging in limbo, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. What that shoe was, Carlisle had no idea, and he wasn't sure Harry did either.

Carlisle continued to track Harry's moods and kept up his mental list of possible diagnoses (he'd amended it to included posttraumatic stress disorder- far more likely considering all Harry had told them- and carefully _not_ told them), but while his doctor's mind wanted to categorize Harry and fit him into a neat box, his heart told him Harry was just a child. Twenty-four years old, yes, but still a child and he forever would be; over-burdened and under-nurtured and with a multitude of poor coping mechanisms, doing the best he could to get by.

It had been almost a month since learning of Harry's story when Carlisle finally pulled him aside into his study to talk.

"I've been thinking about what you told us, about the spell," he confided.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, me too. For six bloody years."

"Just hear me out, all right? I don't think that it went wrong."

"What are you talking about? It had to have. If the spell were supposed to make you powerful _and_ immortal, all the crazy evil bastards in the world would be queuing up to do it! Voldemort would have been first in line. Look, Hermione translated it herself, and she's never wrong. It was very clear, to be granted the power you had to sacrifice yourself."

"But you assume that sacrificing yourself means dying," Carlisle countered. "And for most people it probably would be, but Harry, think about it. You said yourself that your greatest desire was split between ending the war and leaving this life. So how could your death have been a sacrifice? The most difficult thing for you to give up would have been your ability to die; your chance to join your loved ones in the afterlife. That's why it was chosen."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. No, that can't be it."

"Why not?"

"Because. The spell required _willing_ sacrifice. If I didn't know what I was giving up, how could I have been willing?" Harry asked triumphantly.

Carlisle had already considered that. "You said that there was no other way, there that was no other person and no other spell that could have killed him. Did you mean that?"

"Of course. Do you think I would have done it otherwise?"

Assuming the question was rhetorical, Carlisle ignored it and pressed on. "And if you could go back, if you could do that last battle again, would you change your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Knowing what would happen, would you still give up your mortality for the chance to beat him? Even without the possibility of meeting us, if you knew you had to spend the rest of eternity like you did the last 6 years. Would you do still do it?"

Harry hesitated for a long moment, giving an involuntary little jerk before finally uttering, "Yes." He breathed out slowly, eyes wide and unfocused as though he couldn't believe what he was saying. "Yes, I'd still do it."

Carlisle smiled kindly and nodded to himself. He'd already know what Harry's answer would be. "You said it yourself, Harry. Magic always knows. You're not as selfish as you'd like to think you are. You are different Harry, you _are_ special."

* * *

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: O_O Eek. So there you have it. That's the explanation for Harry's condition. Do you like it? Are you disappointed? Was it worth waiting ten chapters? Do you want to kick me? Please don't, I bruise easily.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer_: Still not mine. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes. Purple prose. Slowest updates ever.

_Author's Note_: Well, at least it wasn't a _whole_ year, right? *Sheepish* Writer's block is a bitch. Truthfully, I kind of hate this chapter, but I felt like I needed to post something, and considering how long it took me to get this much out, I'm pretty sure it's not going to get any better. Also, if I look at it anymore I'm going to delete the whole thing and this stupid story will never get finished. Anyway, thanks for all the wonderful reviewers who encouraged me to keep this going. Sorry it took so long.

* * *

* * *

Chapter Eleven

_Harry opened his eyes as the bed he was lying on dipped down, rolling him slightly to the side. "We're studying plant cell structure in Biology now. It's quite fascinating," Edward said, stretching out gracefully alongside him._

"_For the twenty-third time, I'm not going to school with you, Edward."_

"_I wasn't asking you to," Edward protested, eyes wide and deceptively innocent. "Can't I just tell you about my day and how fascinating it was with no ulterior motive?" _

"_Mmm," Harry agreed, "I'm sure you were positively riveted."_

"_I was. In Spanish class we learned how to ask someone to pass the cheese, in both a formal situation and a casual one."_

"_Thrilling."_

"_That one might actually come in handy for you, should your sandwich making needs ever take you south of the border," he added with a teasing smile._

"_Bite me."_

"_Oh really?" Edward looked supremely smug now, his wicked smile revealing all his glistening teeth. "Is that what you'd like me to do, Harry?"_

"_What?"_

_He leaned closer to Harry, running the tip of his nose lightly up his neck and exhaling a cool breath below his ear. "I think you want me to." Harry felt the words more than heard them. He didn't respond, but the visible shudder that ran up his spine probably said more than he wanted it too. Edward chuckled lowly._

"_Say it. Tell me you want it." He lightly scraped his teeth across Harry's jawbone._

"_P-please." The strangled word was all Harry was able to get out. _

_Smooth marble lips pressed softly to his jugular. "You have to say it, Harry. Tell me."_

"_I want it." He wasn't sure if he actually said the words out loud or just in his head, but either way Edward seemed to hear him. His teeth slid into Harry's skin like a hot knife though butter._

_Harry didn't have the presence of mind to remember that this was supposed to hurt, was supposed to burn like fire through his veins. He was too focused on the different kind of fire spreading through him now; slow heat coiling in his belly, white hot brands pressed to his skin everywhere that Edward touched. His groin pulsed hard every time Edward took a pull of his blood; he could feel everything in him tightening. His hips were thrusting erratically, searching for that little bit of friction he needed to push him over the edge. He was so close…_

He awoke with a gasp, panting for breath and still throbbing below the waist. He pressed his hips towards the mattress and gave a piteous little whimper. "Fuck."

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"Aah! Fuck!" He shouldn't have been surprised that Edward was in the room- as that was more often than not the case when he woke up- but he was, and the shock of it had him rolling over so quickly he almost fell off the bed. He promptly sat up and pulled his knees to his chest when he realized he was still hard. He couldn't hide the rapid beating of his heart though, or the flush that rose to color his face and neck, or- oh God, what if Edward could _smell_ it? No, he hadn't come yet, the pulsing between his legs reminded him, there wouldn't be anything to smell…right? The concern in Edward's eyes was growing and Harry realized he had yet to say anything.

"Um…what are you doing in here?"

All right, not the most eloquent of commentary, but he was working under pressure here. Edward looked at him in confusion, probably because he had been staying in the room while Harry slept almost every night for the last six weeks. "I wanted to be able to wake you up if you had another nightmare." He said, sounding as unsure of himself as Harry had ever heard him.

"No- no nightmare. I'm fine." Harry assured him, wanting to put an end to the conversation as swiftly as possible. Edward's eyes narrowed and Harry's suddenly snapped open wide, realizing his denial would only require a longer explanation as to what caused his pounding heart and heavy breathing. "I mean, yes! Nightmare! Fear- is what that was. I…I'm kind of freaking out right now." The last part, at least, was not a lie. He snapped his jaw shut with a soft click before he could make an even bigger idiot out of himself.

Edward moved as if to climb into the bed behind him as he often did when Harry had a nightmare.

"No! Wait." The throbbing had turned into an unpleasant aching and he attempted not to squirm under Edward's concerned gaze. "I need a moment. Alone. To collect myself. After the nightmare."

Edward nodded understandingly, but his amber eyes held a glint of suspicion. And…was that a smirk? Crap, he knew. He totally knew and Harry was an idiot and he was going to die. Of sexual frustration. Or embarrassment. Right now it was a toss up as to which would come first.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Edward asked one last time.

Harry nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice not to squeak when he spoke.

"All right. I'll…just be downstairs then."

Finally, blissfully alone Harry flopped back onto his back, taking a few deep, calming breaths and pressing the heel of his hand to his erection in hopes of relieving a bit of the pressure. God, how humiliating. 24 years old and he was seconds away from losing it all over the bed sheets. He cursed his teenage hormones. He desperately wanted to take care of the problem properly- all he would need was a few good tugs- but he refused to chance it with so many people in the house that might be able to hear, or smell, or holy fuck- _have a vision_- of what he was doing. That thought was like a shock of cold water dousing him and with a sigh of relief he felt himself wilting.

Grumbling, he climbed out of bed and made his way to the bathroom for a shower (cold, just in case) pondering this new dilemma all the way. Despite his fickle teenaged body, he hadn't actually had a problem like this in years. The war had taken its toll in more ways than one, and the heavy fog of depression had pretty much killed any traces of a sex drive he might have had. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a wank, months at least, and he _certainly_ wasn't getting the kind of action that involved a partner. One thing was for sure- he was definitely a twisted fuck. What kind of sick bastard got _turned on_ from vampire bites?

He made the shower a long one, hoping that the rest of the family would be at school or work and out of the house by the time he finished. He was fairly sure he couldn't actually look at any of them right now without catching a glimpse of teeth and turning eighteen shades of red.

He did his best not to think of Edward and creepily erotic vampire bites while he cleaned himself up, but there wasn't a whole lot else to divert his thoughts to. It's not like he had a very busy schedule or anything. The truth was he needed to get out of the house. Badly. He was still refusing to go to school, and he didn't have the credentials to get any kind of job he'd actually want to work. And without the distraction of traveling and his usual reckless activities, well, there just wasn't much for him to do.

For the first time in years he was actually experiencing boredom, which was strange because ever since the war- ever since his depression had sucked all the energy out of him- he'd had the ability to do absolutely nothing for days, weeks at a time and not be bored. But he'd spent five hours straight yesterday lying on the floor of his room listening to a half dozen different versions of Hallelujah on repeat and eating an entire package of individually wrapped slices of American cheese and Jesus, did he need to get out. He was a waste of skin.

The problem was he just didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't know where to go from here, if there was anywhere to go, and he wasn't sure what had changed, if anything had. He didn't know what anything meant. He only knew he felt more directionless now than he had in the five years that he'd wandered the earth with no destination at all.

He hadn't wanted to listen when Carlisle had tried to talk to him earlier that week about the spell he had used to kill Voldemort. He almost wished he could un-hear everything the man had said, because now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Truthfully, it probably wasn't anything he hadn't already known deep down, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. There was no such thing as a win-win situation, and thinking that he could fulfill both of his fondest wishes at the same time was a fool's hope. He had wanted to save the world- and he'd been willing to offer himself up as the sacrificial lamb to do so- but he'd never really been stupid enough to believe that things ever worked out in the lamb's favor. It was only right that the price he paid be something less than palatable.

But he hadn't wanted to believe it, hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, because that meant…what did that mean? It felt like things should be different. Like finding out that the spell hadn't gone wrong, that his being alive wasn't a _mistake_…that should change things somehow. Maybe it had. He felt deflated now. Like all his anger had been let out and he was somehow smaller without it. And he still had a hundred reasons to be angry, because yeah, he'd done this to himself- he'd apparently _chosen_ this for himself, however unconsciously, however reluctantly- but that didn't mean he couldn't still be angry about it. Angry at Dumbledore for manipulating him into doing it, angry at Voldemort for creating the situation in the first place, angry at the Dursleys for the way he was raised, but it just didn't…matter anymore.

He wasn't sure what did matter. But in the last week he'd had more dreams about Edward than he'd had nightmares about the war and that…well that had to mean something.

* * *

At first appearance it seemed as if the house was empty when he finally managed to break himself from his introspection and exit the shower. A second assessment revealed a soft clattering from the garage that indicated Rosalie was out there working on her car, which meant she and Emmett had probably taken Harry-sitting duty today. Which meant Edward had probably gone to school. Harry felt a pang of disappointment go through him with that thought. Well, he had asked for some space, and it seemed like for once the other boy really took that to heart. Still, it wasn't like Edward to leave without saying goodbye, or leaving a note, or breakfast, or _somethin_g for Harry before going.

He couldn't help but feel a bit of worry (and maybe a hint of guilt) that Edward had mistaken Harry's panicked need to be alone earlier for anger or annoyance directed at him. He hadn't thought that was the case at the time, but then, he wasn't exactly known for his sensitivity for other people's feelings.

At any rate, there wasn't much he could do about it either way at the moment. He settled himself in front of the TV to wait and as the minutes ticked by interminably slowly, the worry mutated into an irritating sort of separation anxiety. Irritating not so much for the anxiety itself, but for the cause of his feeling it. An hour ago all he had wanted was to get Edward away from him- a little space, a little breathing room- and now all he wanted was for Edward to come back and wrap himself around Harry once again, holding him so tight he wasn't sure he'd ever take a deep breath again.

It was a bit frustrating really, but it wasn't actually all that surprising. He wanted to be left alone, and he wanted to never be left alone, and he wanted them simultaneously. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd wanted two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time. It was just that, well…he had really been hoping that whole kissing thing last month had been a fluke, and that all that crap Rosalie had been saying about he and Edward was exactly that, but it was becoming steadily more obvious that there was possibly some merit to it.

After all, he'd never exactly been prone to letting people climb into bed with him before (except of course for Ron and Hermione, but they didn't count. Or rather, they were the only ones that did). And yet Edward had been in his bed more nights than not the past several weeks. He spent almost as many days at home with Harry as he did at school, and the days he did spend at school, he often came back during his lunch hour and free period. If anything, Harry should be breathing a sigh of relief at finally having some time to himself.

But all he felt was restless and vaguely annoyed. He got up to search the house again- ostensibly to make sure that Edward wasn't tucked away in some previously undiscovered nook- but really just to keep himself busy while he waited for the irksome vampire to return.

It was unfortunately not Edward that he found a few minutes later, but Rosalie. Or perhaps it was the other way around, as it was the statuesque blonde who cornered him in the library with Emmett at her side, giant and steadfast and for once, silent. Rosalie on the other hand, spoke straight away, voice filled with soft determination.

"Harry? Can I…may I talk to you?"

Compared to her usual manner she seemed almost timid and he glanced nervously between her and the massive vampire at her side and tried not to feel trapped.

"Uh…sure. If you want to."

"Very much, yes. It's been difficult trying to speak with you alone these last few weeks."

"Oh. I wasn't aware you were trying."

"Yes well, Edward's been very…present…recently. He's very adamant that no one upset you," she said with a little smirk. Harry blushed, he knew he did. "Still insistent there's nothing going on?" The strained smile he had been wearing since the start of the awkward conversation slipped and he broke eye contact.

"I'm sorry. That's…I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I had meant to apologize. I'm doing a poor job."

He didn't pretend to not understand why she was apologizing, but… "There's nothing to apologize for, Rosalie."

"There is. I tried to make you leave. I accused you of things- terrible things- without really knowing the truth."

"That was hardly the worst thing anyone's ever accused me of. And anyway you had no way of knowing."

"I should have given you a chance to explain," she countered.

"Er…I think you did. Pretty much. I wasn't exactly being forthright, you know?"

She signed finally, seeming to understand he wasn't going to let her accept the blame on this one. "You're very gracious. And very stubborn."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Not really, I just don't have the energy to hold a grudge for something like that. Honestly, I don't even have the energy to hold grudges against all the people who have tried to kill me. Though to be fair, that's kind of a long list. Anyway it was sort of… I mean I guess if I wasn't already stuck in this life, I'd appreciate you trying to warn me off it, you know?"

She nodded. "Still, I hope you know…I was wrong. When I said you didn't belong with us. I do hope you stay."

"Yeah? You know you might want to be careful about what kind of invitation you throw out there now. It could be a bit longer than you'd initially thought it would be."

She looked at him like she thought he was an idiot, but that was kind of like saying she just looked at him, so he chose to ignore it.

It was Emmett that spoke though, waving him off with a casual flick of his hand. "It's not really possible to overstay your welcome here. Alice didn't even wait for an invitation before she started moving herself and Jasper into the house."

"Into Edward's room actually," Rosalie added with a wicked grin. "That was over 50 years ago and no one's tried to kick them out yet. Well, not much anyway. You're one of us now, Harry."

"Yeah. Except…not really."

"Close enough," Emmett said. "You may not be a vampire, but you're still part of the immortal club."

Maybe Rosalie saw the hesitance on his face or maybe she just understood that that wasn't really a club any sane person wanted membership to. She laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"I know you didn't want this," she said.

"Does anyone want this? Did you?"

"No. I wanted…I wanted to be adored. I wanted to have a child. It was not to be though, and this is better than the alternative."

"You don't know that."

"There is no better place, Harry. There's this- just this- this world, this life."

He shook his head in fierce denial. "I don't believe that, I _can't_ believe that."

"What do you believe?"

"I don't really know. Someone told me once that death is the next great adventure. Personally, I was kind of hoping for some peace and quiet."

"You don't seem like a quiet loving kind of person."

"Well, maybe peace and a good soundtrack?"

"You should ask Edward to play the piano for you sometime. You would enjoy it, I think. He's very good."

"So this is my peace, is that what you're saying?"

"The immortality thing is not all bad you know," was her non-answer. "I know what I said about not wanting to be like us, but it's really not all bad. There are perks."

"Yeah, but I don't get the super-strength and sparkly skin and x-ray vision and all that," he joked uncomfortably.

"We don't have x-ray vision," Emmett corrected, though it was obvious Harry already knew that.

"We do have laser eyes though," Rosalie added.

"Wait, seriously?"

She threw her head back and laughed, unexpected and loud, and for the first time he thought she actually was as devastatingly beautiful as he imagined she like to think she was. She really was quite breathtaking.

He rolled his eyes and snorted a laugh, mood sufficiently lightened. "Yeah, yeah, very funny. Still…I don't get any of the good stuff. It's completely unfair is what it is."

"Well, you'll always be young and pretty at least."

"You know, if Edward finds out you've been hitting on me again-" He cut himself off with a yelp as she cuffed him softly (for a vampire) on the back of the head.

"Plus just think of all the awesome things you'll get to see in the future," Emmett added. "Like slinky. I tell you I did not see that one coming."

"Well that's definitely a valid reason for living forever if I ever heard one."

* * *

It was only half past eleven o'clock when Edward returned to the house, much to Harry's surprise and poorly suppressed delight.

He had spent most of the rest of his morning having an enjoyable if somewhat surreal sort of conversation with Rosalie and Emmett-

"_Yeah, but…have you ever thought about the end of the world? What happens to us then? What if it's just us and the cockroaches? Seriously, what then?"_

"_I wonder how much blood cockroaches have." Emmett pondered, causing Rosalie to wrinkle her nose._

"_I'm _not_ drinking cockroach blood."_

"_They don't even taste good covered in chocolate." Harry said, nodding his agreement. "Don't ask," he added at the look she shot him._

-but he was still ridiculously happy to be in Edward's company again. It felt like it had been ages since he'd seen the other boy, despite the fact that it had been less than four hours. He barely even noticed when Emmett and Rosalie slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with Edward.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, kind of wanting to kick himself a little bit when he couldn't stem the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"You know, if you keep asking me that I'm going to develop a complex."

"I'll believe that when I see it," he scoffed. "Seriously, I thought you didn't have lunch for another hour."

"I don't. But we weren't doing anything particularly important for the rest of the day, so I thought maybe I'd see if you wanted to go out for a bit. You must be getting bored of the house by now."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Were you doing the mind reading thing again?"

"You haven't left the house in over a week. It doesn't take a mind reader to figure out you might be bored," Edward chuckled.

"I notice you didn't actually answer the question."

Edward smiled brilliantly at him. "Go put on your shoes. I'll pack lunch."

"If you think you can just smile at me like that every time you want to avoid a question you are severely mistaken," Harry said, though he was already walking to his room to find his shoes. "We are definitely revisiting this conversation later! And don't put any mayo on my sandwich!"

* * *

Riding on Edward's back was amazing. It was as fast, possibly faster then any broom he'd ever ridden, but the agility was a hundred times what Harry could accomplish on his old Firebolt. Harry had extremely quick reflexes for a human- not for nothing had he been the youngest Seeker in a century- but it was nothing compared to what Edward could do.

They traveled south through the woods, weaving through trees at an exhilarating pace, not traveling over any path that Harry could see, and with no way to judge how far they had gone. Edward seemed to know exactly where they were though as he abruptly turned west and brought them out of the trees to a large and seemingly secluded cliff looming high over the ocean below.

Harry slid off his back and landed agilely on the rocky ground, breath coming only a little quicker than usual and a euphoric laugh lurking on the edges. He still preferred a broom- or his motorcycle- and the control he could exercise over them, but he would take this as a close second.

He took a couple steps forward until he was standing at the edge and leaned forward just slightly into the heavy wind. He could see Edward's discomfort at having him in such a precarious position, but he stood for a few long moments anyway, staring out at the steel shaded water, so closely matched in color by the sky that they bled together into a seamless silvered veil. It was beautiful, in a ghostly sort of way.

He could feel the laughter from earlier echoing off the cliff walls, and it moved him to silence. A storm was brewing out at sea, churning the water into a frenzy below him, and glancing between it and Edward he couldn't tell if the longing he felt was a desire to sink back below their depths or something else entirely. He wondered how long it would take the storm to reach them.

"I'm kind of surprised you brought me here," was what he said when he finally felt ready to speak. It wasn't the spot from which he had jumped- Edward would have to break the Cullen's treaty to get there- but it was similar enough that Harry had thought the overprotective vampire would have been anxious to keep him away.

"I know you love the ocean. And it's beautiful today. I wanted to show you that you could still love it…while not jumping into it from perilous heights."

_And if I can't?-_ he wanted to say.

If Edward heard the words he didn't answer. He settled himself in the sparse grass a few feet away from the edge and stared patiently at Harry until the wizard complied with the silent request and sat down next to him.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"Like what?"

"Anything. I want to know everything about you."

He didn't know what to say. He was used to people either knowing all about him (that is, assuming they knew all about him), or not caring to know. He ran through the list of documented 'Harry Potter Facts' in his head. Boy-who-lived. Lighting-bolt scar. Orphan. Parselmouth. Half-blood. Most were things that were plain as day, or he'd already told Edward about.

"I…can speak to snakes," he finally said, reluctantly.

"I know, parseltounge, right?"

"What? How did you know that?"

"I read about it. Tell me something else."

"I don't- what else do you want to know? And what do you mean you read about it?"

"Tell me something about _you_. Something that has nothing to do with Voldemort." Edward said, ignoring his second question completely.

"Okay. Um, well I used to play this sport in the wizarding world-"

"-Quidditch. You were one of the youngest Seekers ever, right? Tell me something else. Something no one else knows."

"How do you _know_ this stuff?"

"Tell me something no one else knows about you and I'll tell you."

Harry heaved a great put-upon sigh. "All right. Two months before I was born my parents had just gone into hiding. The war was still on, but they had become major targets and weren't able to participate in missions anymore."

"I said nothing to do with the Voldemort," Edward interrupted.

"Patience! I'm getting there. So they weren't supposed to leave the house at all- Enemy #1 and all that- but my dad managed to sneak out three times to see _The Empire Strikes Back_ with his best friend before my mum caught him at it. She made him take an Unbreakable Vow promising not to do it again, but only after he got her to agree to name me Harrison. Apparently he was pushing for Han Solo Potter, so I guess I should consider myself lucky."

Edward gaped at him. "Are you making that up?"

Harry chuckled at seeing the out of place look on Edwards's perfect face. "No, I swear. That's what my godfather told me anyway. I suppose he could have been making it up, but from everything I've heard about my father it sounds like him."

"He sounds like a great dad."

"He _sounds_ like a nut job. But yeah…he was a great dad. So anyway, my full name is actually Harrison James Potter, and not a single other person knows that about me. Not anyone living, anyway. Now how did you know that other stuff about me?"

"I already told you, I read about it."

"Read it where?"

"Books, of course. There have been at least a half dozen written about you in the past year alone, Harry. You must know they write books about you."

"Yeah, I guess, I just…you've read _books_ about me?"

Edward shrugged not looking even the slightest bit guilty. "And magic in general. And British wizarding culture and politics. And that one on the care and feeding of cold weather owls. It may surprise you to know Harry, but you're not actually the most elucidatory storyteller to ever live. Your narrative did leave a few holes to be filled."

"Are you kidding me? When do you even have time for that?"

Edward laughed carelessly. "You know we don't sleep. What do you think I do all night while you're snoring away?"

"I guess I didn't think about it. I suppose you don't lie on your floor all night eating cheese slices, do you? It's not as pathetic as it sounds, really. And I don't snore."

"I am quite sure it is, in fact, just as pathetic as it sounds, not to mention most unpleasant considering I would have to cough them all back up later. And it's maybe not so much a snoring as it is a snuffling."

"I do _not_ snuffle. So what, you just decided to sit down and read The History of 20th Century Wizarding England one night?"

"You do so snuffle. And I'm awake 24 hours a day. What else am I going to do in the middle of the night but catch up on a little light reading?"

The image of a young, bushy-haired Hermione hit him quickly, only for a second, but _hard_, almost knocking the wind out of him in his shock.

…_can't believe I forgot. I checked this out _ages_ ago for a little light reading…_

Harry didn't notice how silent it had gone until Edward broke it with a tentative question.

"Harry? That was…was that Hermione?"

"Hm? Oh. You saw that?"

He looked somewhat abashed. "Your mind has been pretty open today. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to-"

"No, it's okay. Yeah, that was her. We were…God, we were eleven then."

"Was she always so…?" He looked apologetic and intrigued and hesitant all at the same time.

"Enthusiastic?" He quirked a smile and nodded in answer to his own question. "She was brilliant. The brightest witch of our age." He pulled out the creased photograph of the DA from his jeans pocket where he had been carrying it around since Carlisle had returned it to him the month prior.

"That's her there. She died two months after this was taken." He said, and then paused. He hated that phrase- 'she _died_.' It was so inadequate.

"She was killed, I mean. It's not like it was natural causes or some accident or something, you know? She was _murdered_. She was murdered two months after this picture was taken."

He barely registered the sound of Edward apologizing- for what he wasn't sure- sorry for his loss, sorry for bringing up the subject, he didn't know and he didn't care. He felt the anger and frustration and sorrow creeping back up on him and tried to push the feelings back down, remind himself that he was actually in a _good_ mood right now, but it seemed his inability to maintain a cheerful disposition for more that a few hours had stuck again.

He wondered sometimes if his crazy mood swings were just a part of his personality, or if it could actually be put down to teenage angst. He felt so much like a teenager sometimes, strung-out and confused and too full of hormones. And at the same time he felt like an old man, stretched thin and always tired no matter much sleep he got. And still he felt like a child, small and scared and desperate for someone to love him, protect him. Ridiculously, the only thing he didn't feel was twenty-four.

He wondered if the mood swings were something he would have been able to grow out of if he'd been able to grow up. He tried not to think about the might-have-beens too often, but they tended to creep up on him when his mind was otherwise unoccupied. He tried not to think of how he might have felt at thirty, fifty. Didn't want to think about what he might have looked like, how his chest and shoulders might have thickened with age, how the crinkles at the corners of his eyes might have deepened with time.

He refused to think about the man Ron had been on his way to becoming- a stronger, more assured version of himself. Or the way Hermione's edges might have softened as she matured.

And as much as he couldn't bear to think of the future he and his friends would never have, he _definitely_ didn't want to think about the past he would never get back. Didn't want to dwell on the way they used to drag him up to the Astronomy tower late at night in the months before Hermione's death.

The way they would lay back and look up at the sky, talking about the future and what they wanted to do after Hogwarts. Hermione had been considering Muggle University, while Ron was still dreaming of playing professional quidditch. They had mapped out their future home, planned how many bedrooms they would need. (_No way am I having six children Ron. You want them, _you_ push them out!_) They'd talked about places they wanted to go: Australia, Istanbul, New York, Germany. Hermione's family had always loved to travel, but Ron had never had the chance outside of that one trip to Egypt and Harry had never been out of the UK at all. She had wanted to show them the world. (_If you think I'm going to bloody Bulgaria to see Vicky you're off your nut!_)

Harry hadn't participated much- too used to denying himself any kind of dream to excel at those kinds of imaginings- but he had listened with rapt attention, desperate for any little bit of hope to cling to.

He knew now that hope was a razor-feathered thing perched in his soul, tearing him up inside and shredding his heart every time it took flight.

From one side of the wrinkled picture Ginny's sixteen-year-old face cast him a mischievous smile. He abruptly looked away. Ginny- that was another subject he tried to keep his mind off of, though over the past month his thoughts kept skittering back to her no matter his protest. In some ways, she was the only one of his comrades left. Ron and Hermione, Neville and Luna, they were gone. There had been others- of course there had been others- those who had fought on their side, and even those he had considered friends, family.

But they had never penetrated the solidarity of Harry's inner circle. They had never been a part of their little self-contained unit that had felt like the center of the universe; hadn't clutched onto that us-against-the-world mentality that had been Harry and his closest friends' way of life for the 2 years that the war raged properly.

The fact was that Ginny was the only person left in the world who could even come close to understanding. As much as his professors and classmates had seen, as much as the DA and Order members had done, as much as Mrs. Weasley had protested their involvement every step of the way and Pomfrey had patched them up after each ordeal, no one else had experienced things quite the way Harry and his friends had.

And Edward could delve into every memory Harry had of that time, and Jasper could psycho analyze every emotion he had about it, but they would never _know_ the way that Ron and Hermione and Neville and Luna had. The way that Ginny still did.

Not for the first time the guilt burned through him as he thought of the way he had abandoned her. Truthfully, he hadn't been any good to her even when he had been there. It's not like they had been sitting down together for long heart to hearts, or even sitting down together for long bouts of silence. Harry had been avoiding pretty much everyone in those days, but Ginny more so than any. He couldn't look at her without seeing the imagined accusation on her face, blaming him for all the blood dripping from her once innocent fingertips. Couldn't look at her without seeing the not-so-imagined betrayal in her eyes after his first suicide attempt, when he had sliced open his veins with Hermione's old Potions knife.

More than half a decade had passed since he had last seen her, and still he didn't know if he would be able to look her in the eyes.

"Harry?" he heard Edward say, sounding far away.

A loud clap of thunder signaled that the storm had reached the shore. "Can we go back to the house now?" he asked as the first raindrops began to fall.

* * *

"Did I do something wrong?" Edward asked, brushing the rain from his hair as he deposited Harry back in his bedroom.

"What?"

"You were in a good mood today, and then you just… is it something I said? Something I did?"

"No, you're- we're fine. Everything's fine."

"I'm sorry for mentioning her…I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Edward. I told you, it's fine. I'm just…thinking is all."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Florence," he said, even though he hadn't been. He'd been thinking of the feel of Edward's lips on his. He'd been thinking of the last time he'd been kissed before that- a soft peck on the check from Ginny as she'd helped change the bandages on his carved up wrists.

"Florence?"

"In Italy. I was there for a few weeks back in… '01? Maybe '02. It was pretty, I think. I was thinking I might go back."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edward freeze.

"By yourself?"

"Hmm? Yeah, probably." The words came out casual and ugly, and Harry felt something inside him clench painfully.

If it was possible he thought Edward looked even paler than usual. "I don't understand. I thought things were going well, I thought you were _staying_."

Things had been going well. Too well, really. In Harry's experience, counting your blessings was only pointing out exactly what you had left to lose.

"Edward, come on. I can't stay, I don't belong here."

"So we're back to this now? Why? Why are you saying this?"

Honestly, he didn't even know. It wasn't like he had even been planning on leaving ten minutes ago, it wasn't like he even _wanted_ to leave, he was just…it was like there was something miswired in his head that couldn't ever let anything be easy or good.

"Because it's the truth." All the same, he wished he could just shut his mouth.

"According to whom? You're immortal, we're immortal; I fail to see where the not belonging fits in! What would you even do by yourself?"

"I don't know. See the sights, hit the road again, do what I was doing before. I'm not completely incompetent you know, I got by for six years before I met you guys."

"Yes, we all saw how well that was working out for you," Edward snarked.

"Piss off," he spat back.

"Why? Just tell me why, give me one _real_ reason."

He wasn't sure he had any, or maybe he had too many, so Harry didn't say anything.

"Answer me. Harry. Say _somethin_g. Tell me what you want."

"I don't know, okay! I have absolutely no idea what I want. I want for none of this to ever have happened, but I can't have that so I don't know what I want. I want a beer, I guess. Can I have a beer?"

"No. Harry-" he started before Harry broke in, too frustrated now to hear him out.

"You know, everyone keeps asking me what I want, but no one will tell me what they want! What _you_ want. What do you want from me, Edward?"

"I want you to stay! I want you to let me _help you_! I can help you, Harry."

That was too much for Harry to hear. Edward thought he could gather all the broken pieces of Harry's soul and fit him back together, but what he didn't understand was that there were no pieces left to pick up. There wasn't any one terrible soul-shattering event that had cracked Harry down the middle and left him in easily collectible fragments. It was a lifetime's accumulation of pure crap raining down on him and wearing away at him a little more every day and turning him into what he was now.

He'd been a rock during the war, hard and impenetrable, the solid center of the Resistance, holding everything up, keeping everyone together. He realized now he must have been shale all along, brittle layers flaking and peeling off a little more every day, until nothing was left but a few token chips, the rest of him dust, lost to the screaming wind and beating rain and the pressures of time.

"It doesn't work that way, Edward! You can't help me. What are you going to fix? The childhood of mistreatment and neglect? The adolescence of blood and war and expectation? How about the death of my parents, my godfather, my best friends? I've lost _everything_, the damage is already done! You can't take back a ruined life. So unless you've perfected time travel, there's nothing you can do to _help _me."

"And you're quite sure of that, are you? Twenty-four years on this earth and you know everything there is to know about healing? You've suffered Harry, more than anyone should, perhaps more than any of us combined, but don't presume to have the monopoly on hurting. The only reason you can't get better is because you don't want to!"

"What, you think I want to feel like this? You think I enjoy it?"

"YES! I do! I've watched you; you get some kind of sick satisfaction out of being as miserable as you are. You're so scared of being happy, so sure you don't deserve it, but you _do_!"

"STOP IT! Just stop it!" He couldn't listen to any more. He wasn't sure what hurt more, the parts that were true or the parts that were dead wrong. Because yeah, maybe Harry did get a little bit of twisted pleasure out of feeling bad, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve it. "You know what, fuck you. You look at me... God, you look at me like I'm this hurt, lost, little boy who just needs someone to hold him. That's not…" His voice cracked a little and he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "That's not who I am."

"Isn't it?"

Harry's eyes snapped to Edward's, cold as ice now. "I'm not _innocent_. I wasn't a child even when I _was_ a little boy. You've got all these romantic notions about me because you can't see inside my head, but they're all wrong! Do you want to see who I am? What I've _done_?" He reached inside and pulled up every vile, hated piece of himself- every perceived wrongdoing, every hidden bit of darkness- and pushed it to the front of his mind and out at Edward.

_He is standing over Remus' fresh grave, raging at a dead man, kicking his gravestone, lashing out at everyone who tries to stop him. He's blowing a hole through the chest of a Death Eater in his path; he recognizes her as a Ravenclaw who graduated the year before. Sirius is falling through the veil and it's on Harry's hands. He is standing aside as the Dementors converge on Pettigrew, holding back his patronus and watching as they take the traitor's soul. He's torturing Lucius Malfoy; shattering his bones one by one until he tells him where Hermione is being held. He's getting there too late anyway, and holding her as she takes her last breath, blood bubbling at her lips. Ron is taking a killing curse meant for him. McGonagall is making the announcement informing them of the death of six of their classmates and he's laughing; not the displaced reveling of Voldemort, but his own manic, hysterical laughter, and it won't stop coming. He is being ambushed by a rogue Death Eater nine weeks after the final battle, and without a spell, without a conscious thought, he's ripping the man's skin off, watching him die as Harry's trainers are soaked by a growing pool of blood._

The memories kept coming and he had no control over them now. It was surprisingly good; a purging of his soul. He imagined he could feel them spilling out of his pores, thick and black and oozing, and he wanted to step outside, let the cool rain wash away the filth that had stained him for 23 years. He had no idea how long it lasted, and when it was over he felt drained, empty. Not the empty of before- the desolation of the crushing abyss- but a vacant, hollow space. It was not pleasant exactly, but it was sort of...freeing. Like instead of having a sucking black hole where his soul should be he now had a blank stretch of canvas.

He did not wait for Edward to speak before he turned and walked away. He was not angry anymore; that feeling had evaporated along with the anguish and the buzzing anxiety. But his artist's hand was shaky, and he was hesitant to lay brush to canvas without being sure of the picture that was going to be painted. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know the image in mind. His skin felt raw, his eyes oversensitive to the light. He was still breathing heavily from the effort of controlling his occlumency, but for the first time in years it felt like the air was reaching his lungs. He headed for the front door and the rain, ready for his baptism.

* * *

* * *

_Author's Note 2_: *Author is deeply apologetic about Harry's ridiculous Star Wars inspired name* I have read like 20 HP/Twi crossovers recently where Harry inexplicably goes by the name Harrison, and all I could think was… 'is there a reason I'm unaware of that everyone keeps changing his name?' This is the reason that my head came up with. It made me giggle and I found myself unable to not write it into the story. Seriously. Apologies. Why are you still reading this story?


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer_: Still not mine. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: No beta. No outline. Selective canon. Slash and suicidal themes. Kind of a ridiculous amount of angst. Seriously. This is possibly just getting stupid now.

_Really Long Author's Note_: So it's been a year and a half since my last update. Yeah. Sorry about that. When I started writing this story I had no real plotline, or knowledge of the Twilight books, or…anything. And after a while there was…still no plotline. But I developed AMBITIONS of a plot. There was even sort of an outline at one point- granted it was mostly written out on various post-its and the occasional fast food napkin- but it was still sort of an outline! Let's face it though, really this story is mostly just Harry angsting, and Edward angsting about Harry angsting, and Jasper being fucking awesome but not in the story enough.

ANYWAY, the point is that while I still have vague ideas about this story actually going someplace, that's just not going to come to fruition right now. Basically, because I have completely lost interest. While Harry Potter will always be the fandom of my heart, and Twilight is…also existing…mostly I'm too obsessed with Supernatural and Inception and various USA shows (_hi neal caffrey! ILU!_) to keep going with this. I hate unfinished stories though and I did want to give this some measure of resolution, SO HERE IS A FINAL CHAPTER (and epilogue) FOR YOU. I hope you like it and that it satisfies all your conclusiony needs. There may at some point be a sequel to this that actually- I don't know- _goes someplace_, because I do have snippets written, but I wouldn't hold your breath or anything.

Also, half this chapter was written a year and a half ago and is randomly interspersed with the other half which was written last night at like 3 in the morning and I'm not really sure that it flows very well at all, but I'm going to post it anyway because the guilt of leaving this thing unfinished is driving me mad and I can't proofread it or I'll never actually post it. Sorry.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Edward stood at the window, in the exact same position he had been in for the past twenty minutes, staring out into the night. Staring out at Harry, who'd been standing out in the rain on the front lawn for the same amount of time. Head thrown back and arms raised to the sky in supplication, his voice was just barely audible to Edward- laughing and sobbing and shouting into every crash of thunder.

He waited another ten minutes- until he could see Harry's sodden form collapse wearily to the ground- before he opened the door and crossed the lawn to Harry's side. He could no longer hear the sounds of the wizard's breath over the beating of rain, but from the slow rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to have calmed.

He didn't try to give Harry a hand up, instead he sank to the ground and sat in the mud beside him. The smell of earth and ozone was heavy in the air.

He couldn't honestly claim that he hadn't been surprised by some of the things he had seen in Harry's head. He had known there was darkness in Harry's past: tragedy, horror and brutality. He hadn't contemplated the amount of anger and hurt inside his heart though. He hadn't been able to comprehend the sheer size of the wound on his soul. Now that he did…well, now that he did nothing actually changed.

He didn't know how to explain that to Harry exactly, but he needed him to understand. Harry had never been perfect. He had been broken and bleeding the day he had come to them and Edward had never been blind to his scars. He was- if Edward was being honest- probably one of the most truly screwed up, self-loathing individuals he had ever met. Edward was okay with that. He loved him despite the flaws. Maybe he loved him because of the flaws. And nothing he had seen today had changed anything for him.

He didn't want some innocent kid, some person that had never lost anyone or anything, some person that had never suffered. Not that he _wanted_ Harry to have suffered. He would do anything to take that hurt away from him, to keep him from ever having to go through any of that. But the hurt and self-loathing were part of who Harry was and part of what had drawn him to the other boy in the first place.

It wasn't that he liked the way Harry looked at himself. He pretty much hated it. But it was something that made sense to him, even if it didn't make sense that _Harry_ of all people should feel that way. He just…God, he was starting to understand what Harry meant about his thoughts making him insane. Maybe Harry's crazy really was contagious.

The thing was…he didn't _understand_ happy people. He couldn't relate to anyone who was completely comfortable with who they are, anyone who didn't hate themselves at least a little. No one lived the kind of life that didn't deserve a bit of scorn. No one lived a life without sin.

Perhaps it was just jealousy, that other people could forgive themselves where he could not, but he had been inside too many people's heads not to associate happiness with stupidity and selfishness just a bit.

And so it was not that he wanted Harry to hate himself. He hated that Harry did, hated that Harry didn't believe he deserved good things. But he understood it.

They sat in silence for a while, while the rain slowly gentled to a soft trickle and Harry rhythmically squished his shoes in the mud under their feet. There were a hundred words on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say, reassurances that he wanted to give, but if he had learned anything in the past 6 weeks it was that sometimes Harry responded better when given space. Metaphorical space that was to say- the eight inches that currently separated them was all the physical space he was prepared to give at the moment.

Of course sometimes Harry needed to be pushed and prodded and cajoled, and sometimes he needed to be yelled at until he snapped out of it, but he was pretty sure this was one of those times when space was the better option. It was a delicate balancing act with the moody wizard, but he thought he was starting to get a handle on it.

So he bit his tongue and sat in the mud and watched as Harry's hair- even blacker now and for once flat under the heavy rainwater- dripped steadily into the other boy's shadowed eyes.

When Harry did finally speak he almost missed it for its abruptness.

"They're dead."

He wasn't sure if Harry was actually talking to him now or if he just needed to say the words out loud, needed to hear them to know they were true. He responded anyway.

"Yes."

"And I'm not."

"No," he agreed. "You're not."

"I _miss_ them. All the time."

"I know."

"I can't…I'm not going to stop missing them. I'm not going to _let go_ of them."

"No one says that you have to, Harry."

"That's not true."

"No?"

"Everyone always wants me to be better, wants me to be different. They want me to _move on_." He hissed the last words out like they were something dirty.

He hesitated this time before speaking, choosing his words carefully. "It is…difficult, to see a person you love in pain. I don't think people want to change you Harry, they just don't want you to hurt anymore."

"And what do _you_ want, Edward?" They were the same words Harry had shouted at him not more than an hour ago, but without any of the heat now, just a quiet sort of intensity; something between resignation and desperation.

A thousand words bubbled up and consequently lodged in his throat. How did he answer a question like that? There were so many things he wanted; _too_ many things. He wanted to be a good person, he wanted not to be destined for Hell, he wanted not to be starving _all the time_, he wanted not to be a monster anymore. Those were not things Harry could give him. As much as magic could do, there was no cure for vampirism.

He wanted to be a different person. He wanted to be someone who could be happy with what he was, who could revel in his speed and strength and the ease with which he moved through life. He wanted Harry to tell him it was okay to like himself, wanted him to _make_ Edward like himself. But even if Harry could offer him that benediction, he was not sure he could ever accept it.

And he wanted Harry to stay. Stay here, stay with him, _be_ with him. He wanted Harry to smile at him and touch him, he wanted to let Harry's heat seep into his skin and warm his bones. He wanted Harry to love him. He was not sure those were things Harry could give him either, or that he even deserved them at all.

"I want you to be happy! Of course I want you to be happy," is what wound up bursting out of his mouth, despite him knowing it was the wrong answer, despite _not_ knowing if it was even true. Did he want Harry to be happy? He worried he loved Harry's misery as much as he loved Harry himself. Was that because it was so much a part of Harry or because it was something they had in common? He wanted to be the kind of person that would want Harry to be happy. But maybe…maybe the people that wanted Harry to be happy didn't really know him at all.

He took a deep and unnecessary breath. "I _do_ want you to be happy," he asserted both to Harry and himself, "But I think that you need the hurting sometimes. And I understand that."

"Yeah?" A little bit of the tension went out of Harry's shoulders and he thought he saw a glimmer of something in his eyes; some hint of affection or connection or maybe something that resembled gratitude.

"Yes," he replied. "And that's all right. As long as you don't shut me out. As long as you understand that I'm not leaving. I don't need you to be happy all the time, Harry. I just need you to let me be there when you're sad."

Harry's shoulders were slumped now and his face was bent down towards his lap, stubbornly refusing to turn in Edward's direction. Still, he stared unblinkingly at Harry's profile, and though Harry would not look at him he put every ounce of deliberation and sincerity he felt into his eyes. They sat like that for a long minute, locked in that strange tableau- Edward so earnest and Harry…Harry trying not to laugh, Edward realized as a strangled cackle finally escaped the wizard's throat.

"Sorry! I'm sorry. Just…are you kidding me? Do you come up with this stuff yourself or do you sit around reading Harlequin novels when I'm not around?" Harry teased, a slightly hysterical smile spreading across his face. "Oh my God, is _that_ what you read when I'm sleeping? Do you read them right next to me?" He looked lost, and frenzied, and desperate for Edward to play along. Desperate to return to some level of normalcy. But he was laughing and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before and Edward thought he might have had something to do with bringing that back.

"Shut up," he replied with a manic grin to match Harry's own, too enthralled with the sight of Harry smiling to be very indignant. "You don't have a romantic bone in your body, you uncouth heathen."

"No, really. That was a very touching moment. Should we hug now?"

It was not actually an invitation, he knew, but Edward resolutely ignored that as he pulled Harry in and wrapped him in his arms. He needed this connection, needed to calm the turbulent emotions that had been coursing through them both for the last hour.

"We should get inside," he reluctantly admitted several minutes later. "You're going to catch pneumonia if you stay out here much longer."

"Yeah, and I'm sure all ten minutes that I suffer from it will be really dreadful," Harry scoffed. "Let's just…stay a few minutes longer, all right?"

"All right."

Harry leaned a little more heavily into Edward's embrace and closed his eyes before speaking. "I don't- what do I…? I don't know what to do now."

"Neither do I," Edward confessed.

"What, really?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Kind of, yeah. You just…you seem so sure of yourself. Like you have all the answers."

He didn't know how that was possible, but it was nice to hear all the same. Still, he decided to answer that one honestly, even if it did dispel the superhuman image Harry apparently had of him.

"Harry, I have been wandering blind for the last hundred years. Truthfully, you are one of the only things I have ever been sure of in my life."

"Wow. That's kind of…well, that almost makes it seem like I've got my shit together, huh?"

Edward laughed. "Kind of."

"So…what do we do?" Harry asked despite just being told that Edward had no answer for the question.

"We could see a movie," is what he answered, mostly because it seemed like the kind of flippant answer Harry preferred and he hoped it might make the other boy smile, but also maybe because he really did kind of want to take Harry out on a date.

"I could go for a movie," Harry replied. "Anything good playing?"

This time he did offer Harry a hand up after getting to his own feet. "Come on. Let's check the listings."

"What, you mean you can't just like…read the moviefone guy's mind? I'm disappointed. No, really, I'm becoming very disillusioned about you now." Harry laughed and poked fun and Edward smiled, leading them back up the lawn to the house, content to be teased.

* * *

Between the rain still falling gently around them and Edward's attention being so pointedly fixed on Harry, they were almost back to the house before Edward noticed her. She was standing on the drive facing the house, but as he watched her, her head swiveled in every direction, her eyes darting side to side and even up and down as she methodically canvassed her surroundings.

She was drenched to the bone, but even with her hair plastered against her skull, the vivid red color was apparent and should have been his first clue as to what she was there for. It wasn't, however, until they got close enough for Harry to see her- close enough for Harry to freeze up with a look of pure shock in his eyes, and close enough for the woman to spot Harry in return and shout his name with surprise and glee- that he realized who she must have been.

He had to force himself not to jump in front of Harry when she broke into a flat run and flung herself at the shocked wizard standing next to him.

If he had anticipated the possibility of seeing any of Harry's old friends, he was fairly sure he would have expected their minds to be as shielded as Harry's was. This woman's thoughts however, were racing a mile a minute and almost as cacophonous as Harry's during one of his slips of control. Harry's own mind had been closed up tight since the blast of memories he had pushed at Edward earlier, and his family's minds were a familiar and easily ignored humming in the back if his head. The only fissure in the otherwise peaceful moment he and Harry had carved out for themselves came from the redhead in front of him.

The woman's- Ginny, his mind supplied, this must be Ginny- thoughts expressed a riot of feelings; surprise, confusion, overwhelming relief and spitting anger. Overlaying all of that was a constant chorus of _Harry_. Those were the ones that were echoed out loud, pressed softly into Harry's shoulder and neck, but perfectly discernable to Edward's keen ears.

"Harry. I knew it. Thank Merlin, Harry. You're alive, I knew you were alive. _Oh Harry_. It's really y-"

The last sentence was cut short as she pulled back to grip his face in her hands, and got her first good look at the boy in her arms, but the unspoken '_you_' resounded in her mind.

Edward had Harry tucked behind him and was poised to attack before she could finish drawing her wand.

Harry, with his complete lack of self-preservation instincts, was not quiet as on board with this action as most reasonable people would be.

"Edward stop," he said, trying to shrug Edward's restraining hand from his shoulder. "She's not going to hurt me."

Edward _knew_ that, because he wasn't going to give her the chance to hurt Harry, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what Harry meant, and contrary to whatever the other boy said, the witch in front of them gave every indication that she would in fact attempt to kill them both if not satisfied with whatever answers Harry could provide.

"Won't hurt you, my arse," the redhead scoffed, voice lacking all of her earlier tenderness and confirming Edward's misgivings. "You have five seconds to tell me who you are before I rip your intestines out through your nose and string you up with them."

"Ginny, it's me."

Met with only a cold blank stare and a minute twitching of Ginny's wand, he tried again.

"I'm Harry."

"No, Harry is twenty-four. You're…you're polyjuiced or something. This is a glamour."

Harry seemed more amused by that then Edward thought anyone with a wand pointed at his face had any right to be. "Come on. That doesn't even make any sense. Why would someone steal my face, de-age it, and use it to walk around Forks, Washington?"

Her brow furrowed, but her wand did not waver. "I don't know, but you're not…you can't be Harry. This isn't right."

"I can explain. It's me, I swear."

She shook her head, mind screaming fervent denials of Harry's words.

"Just think about it, Ginny. You tracked me down. I don't know how, but here you are halfway around the world standing in front of me and…how would that work if I wasn't who I said I was? You somehow got a lock on a Harry imposter that was staying completely off the grid? It doesn't make any sense."

"None of this makes any sense!"

"All right, I'll give you that one. It's a little odd. I guess I've had some time to get used to it, so…why don't you take a moment…and a few deep breaths, and then you can tell me how you found me."

"Don't you bloody patronize me, Potter!" she snapped. Her voice was still hard, but between her use of Harry's name and the not insignificant relaxing of her wand arm, it was clear she was softening towards him.

Edward felt his own guard ease up as the threat declined. He wasn't afraid of her-far from it- but he was wary, and that wariness doubled when she was staring down the end of her wand at him. As a rule, vampires and wizards did not mix. It happened on occasion of course- a power hungry wizard would endeavor to gain control of vampires to use as minions, or some audacious vampire would attempt to feed from wizards, preferring the spicier flavor to that of ordinary humans. It never ended well. Nine times out of ten when vampires and wizards got into it, they both wound up dead.

There was no spell that could easily kill a vampire. Just like without magic, the only way to permanently destroy them was to take them apart and burn them. While powerful cutting curses and conjured fire might make that slightly less difficult than it would be for a muggle, you still had to be able to hit them with a spell for it to be able to work, and even the slowest vampire was simply too fast for that. On the other hand, if a vampire wanted to kill a wizard they had to slow down and get close enough to sink their teeth in. They often managed it, but in the process they opened themselves up to spell-fire, and usually wound up exploding into little bits of flaming vampire parts. It was rare for either party in such a conflict to come out alive, and in the end, both species had tacitly agreed to stay away from the other.

So he wasn't afraid of her, but all the same he wasn't dropping his guard completely until she was gone. Harry though, seemed even more unthreatened by her than before as she fractionally lowered her wand and answered his question.

"The letter didn't come back."

"The what?"

"The letter I sent you- _him-_ he's never taken it before."

"I don't understand. How did you use the letter to track me? You can't charm parchment like that."

"It wasn't charmed. I- it was the first time the letter ever made it to you. I thought… if Athena could find you that time, maybe she could do it again. And maybe I could go too."

"Do you mean to tell me you followed a bloody post owl across the Atlantic?"

She shrugged. "I had a week off."

Edward wasn't well versed in the specifics of broom-flight, but he gathered from Harry's gobsmacked expression that that was about as insane as it sounded.

"Right well, overlooking the fact that that is…completely mental and previously thought impossible, how would that have worked if I wasn't really Harry? Post owls don't deliver mail to polyjuiced people. I mean, they do, but they deliver it to the people they _are_, not the people they're polyjuiced to look like."

Ginny's mind twisted in turmoil as she wrestled between wanting desperately to believe that Harry was Harry, and a chilling fear of what it might mean if he was. Edward almost felt bad for her. Almost.

"Prove it," she said.

"When you were eleven you wrote a poem about my eyes being as green as a fresh pickled toad," Harry said without missing a beat.

She choked out a laugh mixed with a sob and threw her arms around him again. "You're supposed to use secrets that are embarrassing for _you_, you prat."

"Sorry."

"Liar." She pulled back far enough to grip his cheeks with her hands and tilted his face down to her. "Merlin, it really is you. You look…exactly the same." She sniffed and drew herself up taller, seeming to tuck away her overt emotionalism for the moment. "Tell me what's going on, Harry."

"It's kind of a long story."

"I'm kind of not going anywhere. Now talk."

* * *

Overall the talk went much quicker than the one the Cullen's had received. Without any of the background information needed, the explanation focused primarily on the spell Harry had used and the effects it had had afterwards.

"And that's it?" she asked. "It just made you immortal? No other strings attached? No blood drinking, no soul draining, nothing?"

This time it was Carlisle that spoke up, standing on the other side of the sitting room Edward had brought her to, carefully situated between her and the rest of his children.

"While it's true that immortality usually does require something of a price like the ones you mentioned, in Harry's case, I believe his immortality to be the sacrifice itself. Nothing else is required of him."

"Right, and who are you, exactly?" She turned to Harry. "What are you doing here, with them?"

"Ginny, this is Carlisle Cullen, and his family. They're…friends of mine."

"Friends who know all about…" she waved her hand, a gesture clearly meant to encompass Harry's situation.

"It's kind of a-"

"Don't you dare say 'long story' again or I swear to Merlin I will bat-bogey you so fast your head will spin."

"Well, it is!"

"And they're wizards?" She looked skeptical as she eyed them up and down.

"Not…exactly. They're vampires."

Edward saw her spine stiffen in the same instant that her mind stuttered to a screeching and disbelieving halt. "Vampires. Okay. But…you're not, right?"

"Right."

"And they haven't killed us," she quietly reassured herself, "So that's good. Harry, do you think maybe we should go now?" Her voice was calm, even if her brain was screaming, '_GO GO GO!_'

"They're okay, Ginny. They don't kill people at all. They feed off animals."

"Who cares? Are you insane? That doesn't mean they're safe!"

"Don't do that. Don't get all-"

"Don't get what? Cautious? It's not about pure-blood propaganda, Harry. They could lose control, they're dangerous. And I can't believe after everything you've been through that you would put yourself willingly into this kind of situation."

"Please, like anyone wants to eat _you_," Rosalie muttered nastily from her side of the room. Edward struggled to suppress a smirk, even as Carlisle shot her a quelling look.

"I jumped off a cliff!" Harry shouted, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"Six weeks ago, I jumped off a fucking hundred foot cliff into cold rocky water and I didn't die Ginny. There is no situation here. Not for me."

"No. Stop it. That's not…you don't…"

"Want to kill myself? Yes, I do Ginny. I mean, I did. Or…I don't know. But they took care of me. My ribs were broken and my leg was shattered and they took care of me until I could walk again and they're still taking care of me Ginny, so don't tell me that they're dangerous, because they're not. _I'm_ dangerous."

"To yourself, you mean," she spat.

"To _everyone_! I can't control myself anymore. I can't control my magic."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's all this magic, all this power, and I don't know how to stop it."

"You mean the spell- the power from the spell, you still have it?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so, I mean not really. It's more like- there was all this magic that blasted through me, and afterwards, after Voldemort died, I could feel the power drain out of me, and I thought it was over. But then…it's like when a big surge of water comes rushing down a stream and crumbles away the banks, you can't get back the old, narrow riverbed even after the water stops rushing, you know? And now there's all this open space in me and I can _feel_ magic everywhere, in the ground, in the air, in you and the Cullen's. And it's as if I draw it up when I forget to think about it. And I always forget to think about it because how the hell are you supposed to think about something twenty four hours of the day!"

"I get so _angry_ and so crazy and I just want to hurt things sometimes, and I don't know how to make sure that doesn't happen, because I don't actually want to hurt anyone Ginny, I don't!"

"Harry, Harry, calm down. You were with us for an entire year after this happened, you never hurt anyone."

"I ripped a man's skin off!"

This was apparently not news to Ginny and she countered immediately with, "He was trying to kill you."

"But I didn't even mean to do it. I didn't think about it at all. It just happened."

"It wouldn't just happen to someone you love, Harry. It wouldn't."

"I set fire to the quidditch pitch. I loved the quidditch pitch."

"I…did not know that was you," she said.

And then she burst out laughing. "It took Professor Sprout a month to regrow the pitch!" she wheezed out in between giggles. "She was so angry!"

"You think this is funny? This is my life! I'm a freak, Ginny."

"So what, that's why you left? You thought you couldn't tell us? You're not a freak, and even if you were we wouldn't care. Harry, you could have been changed into an immortal, fire-breathing fishman and we would still love you."

"Fishman?"

"You're still Harry and that's all that matters. You should have told us."

"It's not why I left. I didn't even figure that part out until a couple of years ago."

"Then why?" she asked, and then proceeded to answer without waiting for Harry. "You were unhappy, I know. But to leave like you did, and no word for _six years_…how could you do that?"

"I wasn't unhappy Ginny, I was miserable, and I was making everybody around me miserable too. I broke my promise that I wouldn't try killing myself again and I knew I was going to break it again. I couldn't keep putting you through that."

"So you just decided it would be best if everyone thought you were already dead?"

"…Yes?"

Her fingers twitched in the direction of her hip, and Edward moved back to his protective position in front of Harry.

"I swear Harry Potter, say one more idiotic thing like that and there is no vampire on this planet that can save you from being attacked by giant, flying bogeys."

"Trust me Ginny, it's better for everyone if I just stay away from your family."

The redhead narrowed her eyes dangerously. "From _your_ family, you mean."

Harry hesitated a second too long.

"No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to just decide that we're not family anymore! That's not how it works. You're part of us Harry, and no matter what you do, or how much you've changed or we've changed, you're still part of us. That's what family means. It's the people you're stuck with, no matter what."

"Does that mean you expect me to ring up the Dursleys while I'm at it?"

"They're not your family! They're just...relations."

Much as Edward might agree with what Ginny was saying, he didn't really appreciate the sentiment being directed at Harry…from her. It was one thing to know that Harry had another family out there. A family that Harry had left, in spite of how much they mattered to him, and how long they had been a part of his life. That had come as a blow, yes, but it was another matter entirely to have one of that family show up on his doorstep wanting to claim Harry back. It caused an emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time to bubble up in his stomach. Fear.

"You don't want to come home?" she sniffed, "Fine. We'll come to you. You don't want to talk about the past, we won't talk. But you're not cutting us out again, Harry."

Edward didn't care who she was or what she meant to Harry, she wasn't taking him away from them.

"Ginny-"

"You're not running from us anymore. You let people know when you check out of the hospital Harry Potter, or when you_ leave the country_!"

She may have had Harry for 7 years as opposed to the Cullen's meager 2 months, but he was theirs now and they weren't giving him up.

"Ginny-"

"You want go on holiday, fine, but you send a bloody postcard!"

"GINNY!"

"WHAT!"

"I'm sorry. I just...I'm so sorry."

The quiet apology seemed to break through her furious tirade and she broke down sobbing in his arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Harry."

He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I don't know if I'd go quite that far."

"You're alive anyway. The rest will keep." She released a shaky sigh of relief. "Merlin, I can't believe…I need to contact Mum and Dad, let them know."

"Look, Ginny...do you think you can wait a bit before you tell the others about me?"

"No," she responded immediately.

"What, that's it? You're not even going to take a second to think about it?"

"No. They need to know you're okay, Harry. I'm not going to take an ad out in the Prophet, but Mum and Dad, the twins, they need to know."

"Can you just, give me a few days to...wrap my head around it?"

"You've had five bloody years to get your head on straight. What's another day or two going to help?" She wiped her eyes and pulled a pocket mirror out of her bag with unsteady hands.

"Wait, Ginny, _wait_! I can't. You don't understand, I just can't. Please, _please_, just give me some time."

Harry's voice took on a desperate tenor and Edward was prepared to do anything to fix the situation. A desperate Harry was a running Harry and Edward was not going to let this _witch_ send Harry running again.

"You have no idea what it was like Harry, not even knowing if you were alive. I'm not going to put them through that any longer."

"I'll write! Okay? I'll send them a letter, I'll tell them I'm okay, I'll tell them I'm sorry. Whatever you want Ginny, I just can't…I'm not ready yet."

"You'll tell them you'll come see them soon?"

He hesitated, but then nodded. "Whatever you want."

"And then you will. I mean, it doesn't count if you're just placating them Harry, you actually have to come."

That one got an eye-roll. "I _know_ that."

"And it won't stop them from looking for you. Once they know for sure you're alive, they'll find you, just like I did."

"You give yourself too little credit. No one else will be able to follow a post owl across the bloody Atlantic. You're the best flyer I know."

"Besides you, you mean."

Harry looked at her a little sadly and nodded, though Edward wasn't sure if that was an agreement or something else, some sad thought or memory that only Harry knew.

And then he stopped wondering because Esme was insisting on fixing them some dinner, and Carlisle was offering Ginny someplace to sleep, and Rosalie was flouncing off to the garage with Emmett on her heels, and Harry- Harry was being dragged off to some secluded corner to talk to the witch in private.

Edward did his best to keep his ears (and mind) to himself, out of respect for Harry if not Ginny. He was only mildly disgruntled that he didn't get his trip to the movies with Harry. He was slightly more irked when the other boy gave his bed to Ginny for the night, but that was appeased when he opened Edward's bedroom door whisper quiet and padded over to settle on his couch a couple hours later.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said before Edward even opened his mouth.

"Okay."

"I don't even want to think about it anymore, but I can't stop. I can't sleep, and I can't stop thinking, and I can't concentrate on anything else."

"Well, normally my next question would be, do you want to talk about it, but I think we've already covered that."

"Funny."

"So I guess my next question is: what are your thoughts on fifties music?"

That seemed to stop Harry short and a confused look settled over his face. "What, like Elvis?"

Edward tried not to let his smile look too predatory as he walked over to his record collection. "You had better settle in," he said. "We've got a lot to cover."

Harry's lips twitched at the start of a grin.

So maybe Ginny had spent the last two hours talking to Harry in private, and maybe she had had his friendship for seven years before that, but Edward had him now and he was making him smile and that was more than he could say for the redheaded witch.

It was enough for now. It would have to be.

* * *

He couldn't say he was anything but relieved when Harry told him late the next day that Ginny was heading back to her family in England- by herself. He was so relieved that he dropped his guard and didn't notice Ginny's plans to corner him until it was too late to get away with anything approaching politeness.

He thought maybe he shouldn't have been so concerned with good manners when the first words out of her mouth were, "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're in love with Harry. It's pretty obvious. I've seen enough people in love with Harry Potter to know what it looks like."

He was tempted to ask if she herself was included in that, but held his tongue as he was pretty sure Harry wouldn't appreciate that.

"I take it you have something you want to say about it?"

_Yes,_ her mind hissed. _I have a lot of things I want to say about it._

"Look, I don't trust you."

"Because I'm a vampire," he concluded.

_Also because you're a prat_, her thoughts unknowingly answered.

"Because I don't know you!" Well that was also true, if not the whole truth. "And I don't trust anyone I don't know. Especially not with Harry." She paused. "But you're important to him. And from what he's told me…it seems like you've been good for him. All of you. So I want to give you some advice."

He refrained from outwardly rolling his eyes, but he couldn't stop the scowl from crossing his face.

"Harry doesn't trust easily, less so than me even. He's slow to give his trust and fast to take it away. And once it's gone…he doesn't give second chances. Not anymore."

He didn't doubt that was accurate, but all the same he felt a bolt of resentment at being given advice on Harry from someone else. "You haven't seen him in over five years. What makes you think you still know him that well?" he asked vindictively.

"I know him." _I was the one at his side when his faith in humanity was crushed._

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You have no idea what it's like, losing him. Wondering, worrying, not knowing where he is or if he's even alive."

That wasn't true- not entirely- but he had lost Harry for a period of hours, not years, so he didn't bother to correct her.

"There's not a day that's gone by that I haven't thought of him, prayed for him. And I should probably say that I wouldn't wish that on anyone else. But honestly I don't really care if he breaks your heart. I'm telling you this because he can't handle any more disappointment in his life."

"I'm not going to do anything to lose his trust."

"Good."

"If I may, I'd like to offer you a piece of advice in return. Harry was broken when he came to us. He was messed up, and lost, and alone. He's still messed up, but he's not alone anymore. He's doing well here."

"I know," she said. "I can see that." And though she left her words at that, her mind churned with sadness and relief and what Edward thought was more than a little jealousy.

"I'm sorry, but was there any actual advice in there?"

"The advice is this- be careful what kind of pressure you put on Harry, or what you say about him to others. Because if anyone comes around and makes him feel uncomfortable, or makes him feel like he has to run again, I will destroy anything and everything that spoils the peace he's found here."

She narrowed her eyes at the threat, but inside she gave a little cheer. It confused Edward until he realized that alongside her resentment and jealousy of Harry finding a new makeshift family, she was happy they loved him enough to fight for him.

He thought maybe they had more in common than he had previously realized.

He still wasn't sorry to see her go.

* * *

Edward considered it a point in his favor that he knew Harry well enough now to recognize when he pulling away. Unfortunately it was several points against him that he could see Harry doing it now. They had been making real progress when Ginny Weasley had shown up and derailed it, and now in the wake of her leaving he could see the uncertainty settling in Harry's eyes again.

He didn't know how to fix that and he didn't really think it was up to him to do so, but if he could help with it, even a little, he figured he had to try. His previous efforts had all proven pretty much useless and occasionally even counter-productive, but it wasn't in his nature to give up.

He found Harry where he'd been spending a lot of his time the last couple of days, leaning up against a giant moss covered cedar on the edge of their property. He'd been trying to give Harry more physical space since Ginny's leaving, and though it hurt, he thought it had been helping. Looking in Harry's eyes now though he wasn't sure there was enough space in Forks to give Harry the distance he needed.

He thought back to the fight they'd had before Harry's little meltdown and waited until the other boy met his eyes before speaking.

"You said I only feel this way about you because your mind isn't open to me the way everyone else's is, but that's not true. I see enough, the good and bad, inside your head and out."

Harry didn't say anything, but he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow in what Edward took as an invitation to continue.

"I know you lose your appetite when you're stressed or upset, which is too much of the time for you to be healthy, but when you're feeling okay you can put away enough fish and chips to feed a small country.

"I know you love the rain. You love when it drizzles because it makes you gloomy which in turn makes you cheerful which is the most ridiculous and contradictory thing I've ever heard but it's true. You love thunderstorms even more. Because they remind you of magic, right?"

"They _are_ magic," Harry corrected. "You can feel it if you stand in it long enough."

Edward nodded but didn't pause to discuss the matter. "I know you like reading but hate studying and schoolwork. I know you love music because it blocks out the other thoughts in your head. I know you hate being the center of attention but are too used to it to let it get to you."

"I know that you constantly worry about your magic going wild and hurting people, and that at any given time you're aware of all the exits in a room and how many people you would have to kill or seriously disfigure to make an escape."

Harry cringed a little, but didn't shake his head in denial.

"I know that you love this world. As much as it betrays you and disappoints you, as much as it wears you down, you truly love it. And it kills you that you can't fix every problem wrong with it. You take so much on yourself Harry, too much, and it frustrates you when you can't meet these impossible standards you've set for yourself- that the world set for you."

"How am I doing so far?"

"Have you ever considered getting a hobby or something?"

"That good?"

Harry smiled a little, but it was weak and unsteady, and Edward felt a flicker of uncertainty, wondering if he had gone too far, scared him off again. "Yeah," he said, "you're doing pretty good."

"Listen," Harry continued, with only a little trepidation shaking his voice, "I've got to go for a bit. I need some time to think, work some things out for myself. I'm going to come back, I just…need some time alone."

He liked to think it didn't affect him as much this time to find out Harry was leaving. Maybe because he was used to it by now, maybe because he had more trust in Harry, Maybe because Harry had actually _told_ him this time- and promised to come back. Whatever it was he wasn't so scared this time.

Still, scared or not he could keep from asking, "How long do you think you'll need?"

"A week maybe? Maybe two."

Edward nodded and didn't ask where he was going to go. He didn't ask if he was going to visit his other family, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to know. He just pulled Harry in for a hug and told him to come back in one piece, and if his eyes stung a bit with tears he couldn't cry that was no one's business but his own.


	13. Epilogue

_Disclaimer_: Still not mine. Harry Potter and Twilight belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Stephenie Meyer, and Summit Entertainment, respectively.

_Warnings_: Same crap as before.

_Author's Note_: Seriously thank you for all the amazing reviews I have gotten for this story- that I kept getting even when I hadn't updated in ages. I cherish every one of them even if I do kind of doubt all your collective sanity, since I kind of think this is a piece of melodramatic crap. You are awesome.

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Epilogue

The differences between Scotland in the autumn and Forks were so negligible as to be almost unnoticeable. It was a few degrees cooler in Scotland, though slightly less cloudy, and the damp green of the forest in front of him was so similar to Forks he might not have been able to tell that he had apparated at all if not for the sight of Hogwarts in the distance. For some reason this made him laugh- the idea that he had ended up in a place so close to home. He looked around a little to get his bearings, and once having determined the right direction, he set off.

Seeing Ginny again had made him feel…nostalgic. It made him want to curl up on the couch in Gryffindor tower with Ron and Hermione, made him want to visit Hagrid's hut for tea and inedible rock cakes, or sit in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place listening to Sirius and Remus bickering and telling stories about his parents.

His actual options for visiting his old friends were somewhat less pleasant or reminiscent of a children's storybook though and in the end he couldn't bring himself to visit Ron and Hermione's resting place in Weasley family cemetery, tucked into a quiet corner of the Burrow's property. Nor could he stand to see Sirius's empty grave in Godric's Hollow, flanked by Harry's parents on one side and Remus on the other.

Instead he found himself at the little potter's field on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was where all the bodies- unclaimed or unrecognizable- had been laid to rest after the final battle, and a place he had spent many hours at in the weeks following it. It was a pretty little clearing covered in wood sage and foxglove and a carpet of bloody red campion flowers over the unmarked graves of Death Eaters and Freedom Fighters alike.

He appreciated the irony in the name, and in the picture of so much beauty and life concealing the ugly death beneath.

He settled himself between two smooth, blank stones and busied himself with pulling at a patch of thistle. He didn't speak. Not to his dead friends, or the Death Eaters beneath him, and he didn't imagine the answers they might give to the questions he didn't ask. He didn't look at his hands and see them as they had looked, burnt and broken after the battle. He didn't hear long forgotten screams echoing around him. He didn't shout or cry or set anything on fire or blow anything up.

He just sat and weeded, and hummed a little; he thought it might have been a tune he'd heard Edward play on the piano once. He was a little sad, and a little angry and a little tired. Mostly though, he was just lonely. He missed Hagrid, and Neville and Luna, and God- even Parvati Patil. And he missed Edward. He kept thinking of how Edward might like this place, though he would surely get that look on his face- lips pressed together and jaw tense even as his eyes went soft and sad- that he got every time he thought Harry was being too morbid for his own good.

He thought maybe that he should bring Edward with him next time he came here, but then discarded that as he considered that maybe this would be his last visit to this place. He had spent too many days here already.

Ron and Hermione, Sirius and Remus, they had meant so much to him. _Still_ meant so much to him. They were the family he had been willing to sacrifice everything for, the family he had been willing to die for. The Cullen's were not them and they never would be. They were something important though, even if he wasn't sure exactly how it all fit together. They were the family that made him think it might be okay to live. He wasn't quite sure how to go about doing that, but going back to Forks seemed like an obvious place to start.

It had been only 4 days since he had left, but he thought it was time to head back. He'd needed the time alone to think, but what he'd ended up deciding was that he was sick of being alone.

He'd spent a day holed up in a motel just outside Seattle writing and re-writing the letter he had promised Ginny, before sending it off with an overjoyed (and rather smug) Hedwig. In the end he wasn't sure it made any sense, but it served its purpose- letting his family know he was alive and sorry, and promising a visit in an unspecified future. He wasn't ready to see them yet, but Ginny was right, he owed them this much. And if it bought him a little more time before that world came crashing back down on his head, so much the better.

He'd visited Florence, just as he'd told Edward he wanted to. And though beautiful, it had sucked just as much the second time around as it had the first- maybe next time he'd bring some company and actually manage to enjoy it. This field was the last stop he'd had to make before heading back to Forks. Home. Maybe it was time he started using that word again.

He made a quick detour to La Push to say hi to Jacob and pick up a part for his bike and then headed back to the Cullen's. All said and done and one trip around the world later and he was back in less than the week he'd promised.

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He spoke to Jasper first, mostly because he was the first person that he ran into after apparating into the entryway of the house. Well, spoke might have been overstating it a bit. Really Jasper had just looked up at him from the book he was reading and smiled, before nodding towards the staircase saying, "He's up in his bedroom, probably pacing back and forth like he has been all day."

"Alice?" Harry asked, a little surprised at the other's lack of surprise, though he supposed he shouldn't have been.

"You'll get used to it," Jasper replied, and Harry smiled, realizing that he _would_, he had plenty of time to do so after all. He headed upstairs without another word, sparing only a nod for Rosalie and Emmett when he passed the open door to their bedroom.

Edward was exactly as Jasper had predicted, pacing the floor in front of the large open windows of his bedroom, some soft piano music that Harry didn't recognize playing on the stereo.

"You're early," is all he said upon catching sight of Harry lingering in the doorway.

"Italy was too sunny," he found himself replying inanely.

Edward smiled brightly at that, and wrapped Harry into a ridiculously tight hug. He felt a bizarre urge to burrow into Edward's chest, climb under his ribcage and curl up in the cool stillness there.

"You're staying?"

"Looks like," he said.

Edward's arms squeezed tighter yet. "You are the most important thing in the world. Harry, you are my life now," he whispered, voice low and urgent.

He wanted to laugh. It was funny that he had spent so long worrying he had gone mad, thinking he wasn't fit to be around these people, when they were so clearly nuts. This wasn't just crazy, it was _batshit_ crazy.

_I'm sorry, I don't think this a great time for me to get involved in a codependent relationship._ The flippant remark was on the tip of his tongue to say, but he bit the words back without really knowing why.

It wasn't healthy, this kind of love; he _knew_ that. It was insane and dysfunctional and a little bit creepy; but it felt…good. God, it felt good in a way few things in his life ever had. It was in equal parts terrifying and intoxicating, being the subject of such intense focus. Altogether it was a very unsettling effect. Unsettling, but yeah, also really sort of amazing.

Sometimes it felt like the only person who had ever really loved him had been Sirius. It made him feel guilty to even think the words- they weren't true. The Weasley's had loved him. Hermione and Remus too. In his own manipulative bastard way, he thought even Dumbledore had loved him. Logically, he knew that. And he knew that he had loved them in return. Losing them wouldn't have hurt nearly so much if that weren't true.

Knowing and feeling are two entirely different things though and the love of his friends had never been _felt_ the way he thought it was supposed to. It had brushed at his eyelashes and skittered along his skin like some ephemeral thing and never really sunk in. It had never quite been _enough_.

Sirius though- Sirius's love had been a tangible thing. It had been desperate and dangerous and Harry had _felt_ it every second since finding out the truth about the man until the moment of his death. He had returned it with a violent and reckless love of his own. He vaguely wondered if being raised like he had been had made him numb to normal emotion or if he was just so thick that subtlety was lost on him. Or maybe he was just too fucked up; maybe he needed his love like this- all twisted up and shot through with _need_ and _devotion_.

Remus had told him once that while he may have inherited his father's looks and his mother's eyes, his emotional instability was all Sirius'. And Harry had grinned, because it felt good to have something in common with his dead godfather- even if the thing in common was some kind of personality disorder.

It was probably not the best idea to follow in the emotional footsteps of an unbalanced wreck of a man; no good could come of this. No one had ever accused Harry of having good impulse control though and he surged forward without a second thought to crush his lips against Edward's own.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was hard, and bruising, and it hurt. It was all the jagged edges within coming together. It was all the old wounds, all the misaligned fractures inside him breaking anew and slotting back in to place- the right way this time. And for a moment, it felt like absolution. It felt like forgiveness, and peace, and home, and everything that Harry had ever wanted or needed. The tears squeezed out from behind his tightly closed eyelids before he could stop them, wetting his face and Edward's even as Edward's thumbs came up to trace under his eyes, brushing them away.

He thought of his first kiss, with Cho crying all over him, and the face Ron had made when Harry had told him about it. He thought of Hermione trying to explain complex girl emotions to him and he laughed; gentle huffing breaths that Edward inhaled and breathed back into Harry's mouth. He kept kissing until his smile grew too wide to make it possible and then he pulled away just far enough to press his forehead to Edward's and leaned into him, still laughing and crying all over the both of them, but unwilling to separate from this man, this creature who had so much faith in him. Because this… this was…how could he ever think he didn't need this?

It was like waking from a too long sleep; the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles pricking as blood returned to his deadened limbs, mixed with the pleasure of that first blissful stretch. It was like a stray beam of weak morning light falling across his eyes and calling him back to consciousness.

They were not a matched set. They did not love the same books, could not play the same sports or eat the same foods. Their experiences growing up were completely different.

Edward was not the yin to Harry's yang. He was not cheerful where Harry was somber, boisterous where Harry was quiet; he did not drag Harry out of his black moods or push him to get out when Harry was being an anti-social bastard.

Nor was he the Romeo to Harry's Juliet (or vice-versa, because really, why should Harry have to be the girl in his own analogy?). There were never any opposing forces holding them apart and double suicide for two immortal beings was too stupid to even contemplate.

They were Edward and Harry and that was it. And sometimes Edward drove Harry stark raving mad, and sometimes he kind of wanted to punch him a little, and sometimes he maybe hated him just a bit; but he also _loved_ him and he didn't want to contemplate going back to living without him. Ending up in that hospital room with Carlisle taking care of him was pretty much the best thing that had could have happened to Harry.

And all of the horrible shit, every bad thing that had ever happened to him… well that had all still happened. He couldn't forget it; it paved the road that had brought him here, and for better or worse it had made him the person he was. And this didn't make it better and this didn't make it go away. He would never be totally complete, and God knows he wouldn't ever be normal. He wasn't okay. He wasn't. But for the first time in too many years, he wanted to be. For the first time in years he thought maybe…well, maybe he could be.

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_End_

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_Two months later…_

"Who are _they_?" he heard the new girl ask as he got up to dump his tray in the bin.

Another girl, one whose name he couldn't remember, though he knew she had introduced herself before replied, "That's Edward, Emmett and Alice Cullen, and Jasper and Rosalie Hale. The one who left is Harry Potter. They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife."

"They are…very nice looking."

"Yes!" the other girl giggled. They're all _together_ though – Emmett and Rosalie, Jasper and Alice and Harry and Edward." She whispered the last two names as though it were very scandalous indeed. "And they _live_ together."

"Which ones are the Cullens? They don't look related…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales- the blond ones- _are_ brother and sister, twins, and they're foster children. And Potter just moved in with them this year. I heard he's Alice's cousin or something like that."

He heard her ask about Edward as he turned to make his way back to his table and he looked up to see the vampire in question quirk an eyebrow at him in humor. Harry smiled and rushed to get back to his seat beside him. Well, at least this year wouldn't be totally boring.

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_AN 2_: Yeah, that sequel will most likely never happen, but if it does it would start somewhere around there...


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